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We heard the bombers go over for Operation Cobra, and the distant thud of the

bombs, but I didn't really understand or believe in it. War was a confused, dangerous,

creeping struggle: if you advanced 500 yards, it was a good day. And the news after the

first day of Cobra was confusing and not very heartening. But on the afternoon of the

third day, we got the cryptic message: "Cobra has unleashed its venom. From now on

advances will be reported in miles rather than yards!"

What the message turned out to mean was that the armored divisions, with all

their tanks, had been committed through the hole the bombers had blasted in the enemy

lines. There were only a few shell-shocked German troops left to face them, and they

could advance almost as fast as the tanks would travel.

We were now ready for the glamour part of the war.

On August 1, 1944, a lot of things happened. The 90th Division was transferred

from the First Army to the newly activated Third Army, under Lieutenant General Patton,

where we remained until the end of the war. We also got a new division commander,

Brigadier General McLain, and a new assistant division commander, Brigadier General

Weaver. Under this new team, we speedily gained a confidence in our leadership - a

confidence that had been sadly lacking before.

Besides that, Eric Peach, our own battalion commander, had gotten his promotion

to lieutenant colonel only a few days earlier, just in time to will his gold major's leaves to

Doug Myers, newly promoted as executive officer. Things were looking up.

Then, still on August 1, we got the exciting news that instead of moving west into

the Brittany Peninsula as expected, we were to turn east and drive across France in the

general direction of Paris. Our canteen cup was running over! And, just to prove it was all

for real, we moved the battalion 52 miles! Up to then, our longest displacement had been

So far in the invasion, the Norman inhabitants, what few of them we saw at all,

tended to be reserved, just short of hostile. After all, we had bombed and shot up their

homeland - sometimes their homes - and still we hadn't gotten the Germans all run out.

For all they knew, we never would.

But now it looked as if we could. The Germans were on the run, and as we drove

through the villages, the streets were lined with cheering French, waving French and

hastily improvised U.S. flags. When the column halted, girls would run out to kiss the

GIs in the vehicles. When it was moving, they contented themselves by tossing flowers. I

almost got knocked out of the jeep by one bouquet that caught me in the face at 20 mph.

The men were also hospitable, offering (hard) cider or calvados to anyone who

could pause long enough to take it. I made the mistake of gulping a big draught of

calvados right out of the bottle. Calvados is a high-proof apple brandy, but it felt like

swallowing a red-hot poker, then leaving the tip of it in my stomach to cool down.

I don't remember much about the landscape, except that we were out of the

hedgerows then back in again. I do remember the city of Le Mans, where I went by the

beautiful gothic cathedral with lacy flying buttresses, but there was no time to stop and

take a good look.