On June 9th, we made our first displacement to a position near Ste. Mere Eglise. The night of
June 12th we received our worst visit from the Luftwaffe. Enemy planes attacked our positions
relentlessly, dropping flare after flare; no place escaped illumination. The diving roar of the planes, the
sound of the bombs, the terror of the unknown will never be forgotten. During the attack we suddenly
realized that we were not as well dug in as we should have been. We had to have fox holes – covered
fox holes – a hard lesson had been learned. This was not maneuvers. For one week we remained in that
position, firing while our doughboys and forward observers got their worst taste of combat in the jungle-
like hedgerow warfare. Multi-colored parachutes, parachute equipment, and broken-backed gliders lay
in our fields and the fields around us. Kraut equipment and ammunition was there also – abandoned in
haste. We learned a whole hearted respect for our tough paratroopers as we saw them coming in singly
or by pairs through the enemy lines – many times with valuable information. Our foxholes were lined
with silk parachutes in those days.
From Ste. Mere Eglise our trail led to Amfreville, Orglanders, and across the peninsula to St.
Sauveur Le Vicomte. The march to St. Sauveur was another night ride. Up north of us Cherbourg still
held out but was being slowly cut off. The 357th combat team to which we were attached was to guard
the rear of the troops advancing on Cherbourg and to prevent any Germans from escaping. Many Krauts
did try to get out of the trap, but they were caught by our troops. We ourselves were constantly on the
alert. In the distance there was a constant rumble of artillery and bombing as Cherbourg fell – piece by
piece.
Occasionally in the daytime there would be a fast low-flying Heinie plane over the area going
towards Cherbourg. In a few minutes he’d usually be back with twelve P47's on his tail.
On June 29th we moved again to positions near Beuzeville-la-Bastille. The peninsula was ours,
and we were gathering for the big push. We were veterans now, fox holes with covers were automatic;
Howitzers went down, and nobody opened up on “Bed Check Charlie”, the one Kraut plane which
droned nightly overhead. We talked a little French, accepted their bouquets like heroes, and were still
looking for the “Cokes and Zippos” that had gone to the armed forces. We heard that Rita Hayworth in
“Cover Girl” was the favorite of the Normandy Battlefront,
Crossing the swollen Seves River at midnight, we looked to the right and left and saw the
geysers of war spurt up as the Kraut artillery ranged in on the bridge.
This was the position where our doughs took Beau Coudray and Foret de Mont Castre, and
proved themselves the best doughfeet in the world. In the forest the radio operators and instrument men
carried their equipment up Hill 122 through woods and undergrowth that could rival the best jungles of
the South Pacific.
The Engineers cut a path through the forest, it was impossible to get a jeep through, but they
made it. And once again Jerry took a terrific beating from our guns. This also was the position where we
got our first-quarter master bath – right out in the backyard of Gorges, buck naked – 2 minutes to wash
and 2 minutes to rinse!
Jerry shelled us plenty, but to no avail … remember the burned-out tanks, the fried spuds, the
wine and cognac?
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