THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, June 6, 1994 TAG: 9406040036
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Long
DATELINE: 940606 LENGTH:
In the first of a two-part excerpt from those memoirs, we learned Sunday that the Nazi forces at Omaha Beach spent the days before the invasion debating whether Allied forces were coming. Gockel, then 18 and assigned to a machine gun emplacement, feared the Germans were ill-equipped to repel an invasion.
{REST} The alarm sounded at 1 a.m. June 6, 1944, rousting the Germans at Omaha Beach and heralding a spurt of Allied bomber activity. Then came silence. Was it another false alarm?
* * *
Dark shadows could be detected on the horizon, and we first believed them to be German patrol craft. Soon the shadows grew and became so numerous that all hope was dispelled: The vessels were not German. The detectable wake from large and small ships increased in number. More bombers approached the coastline. A few kilometers from us in Port en Bassin the first bombs fell.
Again bombers approached our sector. Before me stood my heavy machine gun, the sights trained on the sea. Once again I inspected the ammunition belt. I attempted to concentrate on my weapon to take my mind away from the impending events. In a recess of my gun position stood ignition switches for two flame throwers which were aimed at the beach and the tank trench. Also within reach was a pile of hand grenades.
The bombers were suddenly over us, and it was now too late to follow through with the plan to spring into the prepared dugout for cover. I dove under the machine gun as bombs screamed and hissed into the sand and earth. Two heavy bombs fell upon our position, and we held our breath as more explosions fell into the hinterland.
Debris and clouds of smoke enveloped us. The earth shook. Eyes and nose were filled with dust. Sand ground between teeth. There was no hope for help. No German aircraft appeared. This sector had no anti-aircraft guns, and unimpeded the bombers could drop their deadly load upon us.
An endless fleet lay before our sector. Heavy warships cruised along as if passing for review. A spectacular but terrifying experience for those of us who survived the naval gunfire.
The heavy Naval guns fired salvo after salvo into our positions. In the beginning the ships lay at 20 kilometers distance, but the range slowly decreased. With unbelieving eyes we could recognize individual landing craft. The hail of shells falling upon our position grew heavier, fountains of sand and debris rose in the air with the impacts. The mined obstacles in the water were partially destroyed. The morning dawn over the approaching landing fleet exhibited for us approaching doom.
The overwhelming superiority in material made possible only a slight token of resistance. Our heavy weapons were pre-set on defensive fire zones, thus we could only wait, and continue to wait. It appeared as though the enemy would land in the approximate beach center. We had planned on the enemy attempting a landing only at high tide, in order to drive the boats over the open beach. But now was low tide, the waterline lay about 300 meters distant.
The shells and bombs had destroyed many of our positions, but we had not suffered heavy casualties. We used every available minute to retain contact with one another throughout the rain of shells, and although we no longer saw any possibility to escape from this chaos, we clung desperately to every minute won.
\ Now with great speed, dive bombers approached our positions at low altitude, board weapons rattling, bullets whistling and popping around us. There were six of us in the position, and still no one was wounded. A comrade stumbled out of the smoke and dust into my position and screamed: ``Franz watch out! They're coming!''
The sea had come alive. Assault boats and landing craft rapidly approached the beach. The first closely packed landing troops sprang from the boats, some in knee-deep water, others up to their chests. There was a race over the open beach toward the low stone wall running parallel to the waterline, which offered the only protection. The defenders sprang into action.
It had been futile to attempt to defend against air and Naval bombardment, and until now we could only attempt to save our own lives. Now we heard the first machine gun bursts.
Within seconds the first waves of assault troops collapsed after making only a few meters' headway. Assault craft careened leaderless back and forth on the water for a short time before the naval gunfire opened up again. Rapid-fire naval guns and heavy-caliber machine guns zeroed in on our positions, concentrating on gun emplacements.
Suddenly, the machine gun was torn from my hands, and still today it is difficult for me to imagine that I escaped this blast without the slightest injury.
The ignition switches for the flame throwers had been destroyed by shell splinters. Only the remains of the cables hung limply in place.
\ On came the second wave of assault craft. Again a race across the beach. Again the defensive positions opened fire. The resistance from the defenders grew weaker. More and more comrades were killed or wounded. The tide came slowly forward, the waterline creeping up the beach. With the incoming tide, the open area became shorter for the assault troops. Tank-landing boats dropped their ramps and the tanks rolled onto the beach, shooting as they moved.
The battle raged back and forth for some hours. The beach became strewn with dead, wounded and shelter-seeking soldiers of the landing fleet. The tide crept forward, the water coming ever closer. Anything that could move on the beach sought shelter, with many falling victim to the defenders.
We began to notice our own losses. The lightly wounded were bandaged and sent to the rear. The seriously wounded were carried to a sheltered area. Dead comrades were left lying where they fell; there was no time to look after them.
Some of the assault troops reached the low stone wall, seeking protection from our gunfire. The safety offered here was temporary. Our mortar crews had waited for this moment and began to lay deadly fire upon pre-set coordinates along the wall. Mortar rounds with impact fuses exploded on target. The shell splinters, wall fragments and stones inflicted casualties upon the troops.
The tide continued to rise, the unprotected stretch of beach became more narrow, and the surf brought a gruesome cargo to shore. In the swells, wounded soldiers fought for their lives, the dead troops floated and tossed in the water, the waves dumping them onto shore.
The incoming tide had reached the low wall at midday, and the landing craft with shallow draft lay approximately 100 meters before us. With rifles we continued to attempt to stop the onslaught.
About midday, some comrades and I made our way to the upper command position. A final spring into the bunker was possible under cover fire from Paul Haeming and Helmut Kieserling (both of whom were killed shortly thereafter). A half ration of bread and a mess-tin of milk offered a welcome respite.
In the upper command position, I had an overview of the entire beach from Colleville to Vierville. On the sea were even more large ships than observed earlier, and between these ships and the beach was heavy traffic in boats of all descriptions. Also seen were burning and torn apart landing craft in the surf and on the beach. Dead and wounded lay everywhere. A tank was burning near the Steinbrecher, and numerous tanks were knocked out. Weapons and equipment were seen in the tide. A large number of ships flew barrage balloons for protection against aircraft, but they also made a good target for our artillery batteries behind the coastline.
The pressure from the assault troops on our flanks grew stronger. The first enemy soldiers penetrated our position, surprising us while we were concentrating on the landing craft on the beach.
I saw our position commander, Oberfeldwebel Pie, crawl wounded out of the line of fire. With two other comrades I had taken over covering the left westward side. We still had our rifles and one light machine gun. While changing locations across the torn ground, a comrade received a fatal head shot. A few minutes later, I, too, was shot through the left hand. The Americans had entered our network of trenches and were suddenly only 20 meters from us. A comrade who later bandaged my hand stated that it looked like a good ``heimatschuss'' (``million-dollar wound'').
Crawling and running with my rifle clamped tightly under my arm, I rapidly made my way toward Colleville. In Colleville, there was already fighting, and the machine gun and rifle fire could be clearly heard. At the outskirts of Colleville, at our company command post, I again linked up with wounded comrades from my position.
\ The following morning, I attempted to find a route for our vehicle - a horse and wagon requisitioned from a French farmer - when suddenly on a side street I was confronted by a number of Frenchmen. I instantly feared that they would attempt to vent their wrath for the destruction on me, but their anger was directed otherwise. They encircled me and one of them in broken German asked about my wound and about the situation on the coast. Another pulled a dagger from under his shirt and muttered in French, ``Pour l'American'' (``For the Americans'').
So great was the rage and disappointment for the destruction brought upon them. After receiving directions, I was permitted to continue. I returned to the farmhouse in order to assemble those remaining wounded who could still walk, and we made our way on side streets toward the other side of town in hopes of finding further transport. Dead and wounded French civilians lay scattered on the streets and in the ruins.
Completely exhausted, we reached the next village. Despite the tragedy brought upon the population of Vire from the American air attacks, for which we were also responsible, the inhabitants who had lost belongings and homes, whose family members and friends lay under rubble as victim of the American air attacks, offered us their few remaining portions of bread and apple wine.
We proceeded to Paris under cover of darkness. We reached the city several days later, only after our accompanying medical officer was shot by the resistance in a wooded area in which we had sought shelter from enemy aircraft. In the Ecole de Militaire in Paris, transportation to Germany was assembled.
After suffering heavy losses, our company was withdrawn from the front line and transferred to Perpignan on the Spanish border to be re-equipped and rebuilt. From there, the company began a withdrawal, while taking many casualties, through the Rhone valley and the Vogesen, ending the journey in Alsace.
None of my comrades who had survived the invasion on the coast continued to believe in a victory.
This overwhelming superiority in men and material could not be fought against. Only a few German soldiers were involved in the fighting on Omaha Beach . . . about 400 in the beach area. Many of them were killed or wounded within the first hours, leaving only small groups or single fighters to attempt to repel the overwhelming enemy forces. Those soldiers who were taken prisoner on the beachhead later reported that they had been asked, ``Where are the others?''
There were no others.
Many of our comrades lost their lives. Others still today carry the scars of this battle. Both sides fought fiercely in Normandy, each fighting for what they believed was a righteous cause. The many crosses in the war cemeteries in la Camble on Omaha Beach and near Bayeux bear testimony to this bitter battle. For the French nation, June 6, 1994, brought freedom.
{KEYWORDS} D-DAY WORLD WAR II NORMANDY
by CNB