Eighty years ago
In the dark pre-dawn of June 6, my uncle Earl’s unconscious body was pulled from the icy waters of the English Channel. His LCT-A foundered en route to the largest military action of all time. Five thousand watercraft of all sizes streamed across the Channel toward the beaches of Normandy. Aircraft filled the skies above, shuttling paratroopers and gliders behind the German lines. Hitler’s Fortress Europe waited for them.
An administrative decision, made weeks earlier, meant that the LCT-A would be loaded from the side rather than from the front. Simply put, this meant more ships could be loaded in less time. The starboard side of the metal hull was cut away and three Sherman tanks drove on from the pier along the south coast of England. The hull was then re-welded into place. All up and down the English ports similar measures were happening to prepare for the implementation of Operation Overlord. The invasion was set for June 5, but winds and waves were impossible. Over the next 24 hours, conditions abated just a bit, and somewhere along the line the Allied commanders decided to go ahead with the invasion rather than wait a month or more. It was the right call.
But the LCT-A, motoring south through heavy seas with its three 32-ton Shermans and a couple dozen men from the Army and Navy, would expose its starboard hull to the westerly winds and waves. Incessant pounding, wave after wave breaking against that newly repaired hull, and some of the welds began to break. Somewhere in the middle of the Channel, in the middle of the night, the ship began to take on water. One of its two engines flooded out. The naval commander of the little landing craft had to pull a pistol to move a seasick member of his crew out of his bunk to tend to the engine. Finally they realized the ship was going down, and prepared to launch the one inflatable raft and another cork flotation device. While the military might of nations cruised around them toward France, no one noticed the crew of one small landing craft adrift on the waves. Finally a minesweeper saw them in the dark and pulled them aboard.
By that time Earl was unconscious. He was transported to a hospital in England, but never woke. He had celebrated his 25th birthday just a few days before, writing home that he was doing fine and not to worry, but you can tell in the letter he’s feeling pretty blue. Then comes his final letter, obviously after he’s gotten word that the invasion is imminent. His resolve has stiffened and he is ready to fight. He still dreams of coming home to farm someday, but he recognizes that this war needs to be won, and that is his task. He has a job to do.
Earl’s unit, Company A of the 743rd Tank Battalion, was slated to hit Omaha Beach at precisely D-Day, H-Hour. 6:30 am on June 6, 1944. Company A’s tanks had been fitted with tall intake and exhaust shrouds that allowed the tanks to be launched in up to seven feet of water, then motor ashore. Other companies (B and C) of the 743rd and 741st were actually designed to swim their 32-ton tanks in, floating in the icy waters by means of an expandable canvas shroud, propellers driving them through the waves toward the beach. Dozens of the 741st’s tanks launched thousands of yards from the beach and immediately sank in the rough water. The naval commanders responsible for transporting the 743rd recognized the rough conditions and chose to drop their cargo on the beach instead. Once on shore, these tanks provided a key support to the infantry battling to open the exits from the beaches. But Earl’s tank, and so many others, never arrived.
How many young men just like Earl? How many stories of the emotional ups and downs, then stiffened resolve as they pushed off toward France? How many tragic deaths in training, in preparation, in transport, in battle? These soldiers knew the risks, and they stood to pit themselves against Hitler’s twisted dream of an Aryan Reich ruling Europe.
I grew up hearing stories of D-Day and the invasions, but it took me many years to discover what actually happened to Earl. Even learning what specific LCT-A he was on was difficult. But I have always understood World War Two through the lens of his sacrifice. As a child, I remember that we never missed a Memorial Day at our local Lutheran Church, and somehow our family was always front and center when the honor guard shot their volleys outside after the potluck, at the edge of the cemetery where Earl’s body, brought home from England, was laid to rest.
Words like tyranny and freedom are easy to throw around. It’s easy to critique this or that political leader. But I think of a 25-year old man, eager to take on the family farm. He came home in 1943 for a brief leave. He walked around the yard, checking on the trees he’d planted a few years before, stopping over at the neighbors to say hello. Then he returned to his duties, knowing he had something to accomplish in the name of freedom, in the opposition of tyranny.
Lest we forget.