"We shall have to send the soldiers into this party seeing red.

They must see red. We must get them completely on their toes

having absolute faith in the plan; and imbued with

infectious optimism and offensive eagerness.

Nothing must stop them. Nothing. If we send them into

battle this way - then we shall succeed."

Bernard Montgomery

May 15, 1944

The Final Presentation of Plans, the "great dress rehearsal" for "Overlord," was finally held in London on a cold but sunny day in mid-May at Montgomery's barrack-like headquarters, St. Paul's School. Had the meeting been held at night, the stars would have glittered, for just about every commander associated with the Invasion of Normandy was in attendance.

Bernard Montgomery, head of all ground forces, wore full battledress. General Eisenhower, bearing well under awesome pressures but fighting a cold, was present. The quiet, skilled master of the successful air strikes of that spring, Deputy Supreme Commander, Sir Arthur Tedder sat in one of the armchairs in the front row of the dimly lit lecture room. He was joined by the King of England, George VI and Prime Minister Churchill, who came armed with a cigar. His close friend, witty Field Marshall Ian C. Smuts, sat nearby.

General Ismay, the Prime Minister's trusted Chief of Staff, who would later recall, "The room was so chilly the participants sat on their coats to keep out the damp cold," took up a position on one of the hard seats in the crescent-shaped classroom that was serving as the meeting room for this all-important assemblage. The modest, but tough Naval Commander for "Overlord," Admiral Ramsay, was aboard. Air Marshall Leigh-Mallory was present. He would be commanding the air forces during the landings. The professional and incisive Chief of the Imperial Staff, Alan Brooke, as well as all the other members of the British Chiefs of Staff, were also in attendance.

Omar Bradley, Commander of US ground forces for "Overlord," Miles Dempsey, Montgomery's Second Army Commander and his able chief of staff, Frank Simpson, all took their places. The reserved and quiet General Courtney Hodges, a man who joined the Army as a private after flunking out of West Point and was now Bradley's deputy, was joined by every Corps commander - British, Canadian and American - participating in "Overlord."

Even division commanders were present. The men who would lead the Invasion forces for the Americans at Omaha Beach, Major General Clarence Huebner of the Big Red One and Major General Charles Gerhardt of the 29th, sat next to General Richard Barton, leader of the 4th Division whose troops would strike at Utah Beach on D-Day. Noticeably absent at the start of the meeting was the Conqueror of Sicily, the recently freed from exile General George Patton. But, not for long. Just as Eisenhower was about to start the meeting, there was a loud pounding at the doors guarded by two fearsome looking military policemen. Although Montgomery had ordered these doors bolted at 9:00 AM sharp, the shocking looking enforcers of this edict yielded when Montgomery permitted them to let the intruder in. To the chagrin of the assembly, General Patton crossed the threshold, walked towards a bench and sat down.

There was no pomp or circumstance to start the meeting. No ruffles or flourishes. Instead, the mood was described as "grim." A large colored map of the Normandy coast from the mouth of the Seine at LeHarve to the port of Cherbourg to the west hung across the stage behind the speaker's podium where General Eisenhower stepped up to open the meeting.

The Supreme Commander's initial remarks were brief. Although the event did not require much of an introduction, he announced the purpose of the gathering and told everyone present that if they saw a flaw in the plans being presented, they should not hesitate to bring it up. He stated that he had no sympathy for any of his commanders who could not tolerate examination. He pointed out that they were all there to get the best possible results and they must make a co-operative effort to do so. Naval Admiral Morton Deyo remembered, "As we took those uncompromising and hard seats, the room was hushed and the tension palpable. It had been said that his smile was worth twenty divisions. That day it was worth more. He spoke for ten minutes. Before the warmth of his quiet confidence the mists of doubt were gone. Not often has one man been called upon to accept so great a burden of responsibility. But here was one at peace with his soul."

Eisenhower then turned the meeting over to Montgomery, who delivered his comments in a quiet but confident manner. According to Leigh-Mallory, "His general line was we have sufficiency of troops; we have all the necessary tackle; we have an excellent plan. This is a perfectly normal operation that is certain of success. If anyone has any doubts in his mind, let him stay behind."

Anxiety, not doubt, reigned that morning for by now there was every reason to be positive about the plan. As we know, Churchill had recommended the initial assault force be increased by twenty-five percent after he first heard the COSSAC presentation in Quebec the previous summer. Bradley and Montgomery both did diligence to this proposal and they had come up with sound reasons for justifying the increased allocation of two additional divisions for the landings. After discounting LeHarve because big German naval guns protected it, Bradley chose the port of Cherbourg for the unloading and build-up of forces after D-Day. Even though the port's capture was not even likely for two weeks, its availability was deemed essential to the overall success of "Overlord," for Bradley had gone as far as to say, "This build-up would determine whether the invasion was to stick or be thrown back into the Channel."

Even so, Cherbourg could not be taken by a direct frontal assault, so Bradley determined it had to be taken from the rear. However, the port city was located at the tip of the Corentin Peninsula and was isolated from the mainland by what Bradley described as a "jungle of rivers" and a "marshy neck." In order to assure its timely capture, Bradley reasoned a separate division would have to go after it. Such became the task of General Richard Barton's 4th Infantry and the mission for Utah Beach was born.

Farther to the east, along a crescent-shaped section of the Normandy coast now well known as "Omaha," Bradley developed the role for the 1st and 29th Infantry Divisions. The initial task force for this assault would be under one command - Clarence Huebner - and would be comprised of a total of 34,000 men with four regiments taking the lead. Two of these, the 115th and 116th regiments of the 29th Division, would land in the western zone in front of Vierville and St. Laurent. On the east end of Omaha, between St. Laurent and Coleville, the 16th and 18th Infantry Regiments of the Big Red One would strike.

While Bradley refined this assault plan in the American sector, Montgomery brought forth recommendations to widen the attack even farther to the east to cover the area leading to the mouth of the Seine River near LeHarve. He determined that it would be important for American forces to be protected from a counterattack by the German strength buildup in the Pas de Calais area across the Seine where the German High Command believed, and were continuously led to believe, the main assaults would come. Arguing for this in a letter to Churchill, Montgomery warned what the outcome might be if the assault was made without this wider-area offensive. "By D+12," he wrote, "A total of twelve divisions would be landed on the same beaches as were used for the initial landings. This would lead to the most appalling confusion on the beaches and the smooth development of the land battle would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. Further divisions come pouring in, all over the same beaches. The confusion instead of getting better would get rapidly worse."

Thus, to protect this flank and assure more elbow room for the invaders, Montgomery advised, "The initial landings must be on the widest front, that one British Army should land in front of two, or possibly three, Corps. One American Army similarly, and that during the assault phase Corps must be able to develop their own beaches and other Corps must not land through those beaches."

However, confident as he was that the landings could be accomplished with this increased strength, Montgomery was nevertheless sure his nemesis, Erwin Rommel, would launch a full-blooded counterattack by D+2. His words to the classroom guests at St. Paul's echoed these concerns:

"Last February, Rommel took command from Holland to the Loire. It is now clear that his intention is to deny any penetration: Overlord is to be defeated on the beaches. Rommel is an energetic and determined commander; he has made a world of difference since he took over. He is best at spoiling the attack; his forte is disruption; he is too impulsive for the set-piece battle. He will do his best to `Dunkirk' us - not to fight the armored battle on ground of his own choosing but to avoid it all together by preventing our tanks from landing by using his own tanks well forward. On D-Day he will try to force us from the beaches and secure Caen, Bayeux (Author’s note: only two miles east of the 1st Division landing zone) and Carentan (behind Utah Beach). His obsession will be Bayeux. This important nodal point splits our frontal landings in half. Thereafter he will continue his counter-attacks. But as time goes on, he will combine them with a strong roping-off policy, and then must hold firm on the important ground which dominates and controls the road axes in the `bocage' (hedgerow) country.....The enemy is in position with reserves available. There are obstacles and minefields on the beaches; we cannot gain contact with the obstacles and recce them. There are many unknown hazards, and after a sea voyage and a landing on a strange coast, there is always some loss of cohesion. We must time our assault so as to make things as easy as possible for the landing troops. Therefore we shall touch down so that all obstacles are dry, so we have 30 minutes in which to deal with them before the incoming tides."

Montgomery's deliberate confidence in the timing sequence for the landings, and the consensus he had built by the time the "Overlord" commanders met at St. Paul's school, left some of the reasons for this decision untold. H-Hour was set at Omaha Beach for 6:30 AM; Utah would be twenty minutes earlier. The planners knew the right combination of moon and tide was essential for the Invasion to be successful. There were two periods during June that would provide at least one of these. The first was between June 5th and June 7th when the moon would be full and it would be mid-tide at the beach edge at H-Hour. The second was two weeks later. The tides would be right again, but the moon would be in a new phase and the skies would be black.

The right amount of light was necessary for both safety and effectiveness. If the moon were full, the pilots of transports carrying airborne troops toward their landing zones behind Omaha and Utah would be able to see better while crossing over the Channel. Naval commanders, whose ships would be blacked out, could navigate more safely in moonlight. Tedder's air offensive on D-Day called for a thunderous strike just ahead of the landings when bombers would saturate the beaches and pound the Atlantic Wall. Then the Navy's battlewagons and destroyers would unload their cannons, spitting fire across the beaches, blowing holes through Rommel's obstacles so the troops could march right up the bluffs.

All three services would benefit from light, albeit first light, but not more than thirty minutes of light, because they did not want to give the Germans any more time than this to figure out what was happening, thus allowing them to muster more fire on the troops as they came ashore. The Navy's coxswain who would drive the LCIs to shore and the infantrymen who would rush off them also needed this time to see Rommel's mines. But, if they went in at dead low, there would be too much open beach area for them to cross before they reached the first natural protection Omaha offered, a "shingle" about four feet tall at the high water mark, constructed by washed up stone that had rolled in for centuries, now covered in some places with drift wood and other debris.

Montgomery did not need to explain this to his audience. His commanders knew it all too well. Instead, he moved on, telling everyone:

"We have the initiative. We must rely on the violence of our assault, our greater weight of supporting fire from the sea and the air, simplicity and robust mentality. We must blast our way ashore and get a good lodgement before the enemy can bring sufficient reserves up to turn us out. Armored columns must penetrate deep inland, and quickly on D-Day; this will upset the plans and tend to hold him off while we build up strength. We must gain space rapidly, and peg out claims inland as well. And while we are engaged in doing this the air must hold the ring, and must hinder and make difficult the movement of enemy reserves by train or road. The land battle will be a terrific party and we will require the full support of the air all of the time, and laid on quickly. Once we can get control of the main enemy lateral...and the area enclosed in it is firmly in our possession, then we can expand this lodgement area we want and begin to expand."

Back in April, Montgomery had held a similar session to explain his strategy for doing this. As Bradley remembered, "Monty's briefing (that day) made a profoundly favorable impression on Ike, Bedell Smith - all of us in fact. Gone was the methodical, conservative setpiece thinking of the Monty of North Africa, Sicily and Italy. Here was a `new' almost recklessly brash Monty."

The May 15, 1944 Montgomery was indeed a man certain of victory who was hell-bent on enrolling every person present in his responsibility to show leadership and assure success. He summed this up masterfully when he concluded his speech with, "We shall have to send the soldiers into this party seeing red. We must get them completely on their toes; having absolute faith in the plan; and imbued with infectious optimism and offensive eagerness. Nothing must stop them. Nothing. If we send them into this battle this way, then we shall succeed."

Unfortunately, the King of England had to follow Montgomery's inspiring summation. His speech was short, to the point and heartfelt. The King often spoke with a stutter, but on this day he steadied himself and told the august body of military brass, "With God's help this great operation could be brought to a successful conclusion."

The meeting then broke for lunch after which the task force commanders summarized air, naval and ground strategies in some detail. Several items commanded everyone's attention.

While Montgomery had pointed out that Cherbourg could be taken by D+14, it was also quite probable the Germans would demolish as much of the port as they could before they abandoned it. This presented a double jeopardy for the planners. During the first two weeks of the Invasion, the troops would have to be resupplied from ports in England and, even with the capture of Cherbourg, some of the gloomier predictors were forecasting it might take up to two months to clear the harbor and open the channel to normal shipping. Until that time, something had to be done.

British innovation came to the rescue, this time in the form of the artificial Mulberry harbors that was talked about by the COSSAC planners in Quebec. These harbors would be built in two phases. Right after the Invasion started, old barges and obsolete ships would be towed across the Channel and sunk off the beaches, forming a breakwater for resupply vessels to come into and offload cargo. Within three to four weeks, other components of this man-made effort would then be brought across, assembled and made into a port complete with floating piers. Contemplating the inevitable problems of refueling ships in these man-made harbors, the British even drew up plans to lay a pipe under the Channel.

When the presentations moved to the plight of the initial assault forces on D-Day, everyone was reminded that these men would need immediate close-fire support because of the near certainty they would come under attack the moment they hit the beaches. To accomplish this, the COSSAC planners proposed that the first wave of troops be supported by follow-up craft carrying rockets, guns and mortars.

Montgomery had immediately agreed with them and even ordered "artillery and tanks be brought in on the heels of the infantry...so loaded that a proportion of those on each landing craft could fire while waiting to land." He, too, anticipated the beaches would be showered with point-blank fire before the men reached the beach shingle and he felt the only way to extinguish this was to discharge everything that could possibly be mustered to help the assault forces. This way, with the Navy's ships also firing over their heads, these men could establish a beachhead under an umbrella of shell bursts, exploding cannonballs, rocket fire and a blaze of other inferno aimed at Kraiss' men and fortifications along the Invasion zones.

Eventually, someone decided the tanks should go in ahead of the infantry; not behind them. The ingenuity of the British came forth with yet another innovative approach to do this; this time in the form of an amazing tank that could swim. The seagoing Duplex Drive or "DD," so named because rear mounted propellers actually powered it through the water using the same engine that drove the thirty-three ton Sherman tank on land, was created by Major General Percy Hobart.

Hobart was a most unusual man. He had been retired from the regular British army because his ideas were viewed as too eccentric, but Churchill had nevertheless personally selected him to modernize the tank. The "DD" tank was far ahead of its time. It had a watertight body fitted by a canvas flotation collar held up by light steel tubes. Despite the enormous weight of the tank, the inflated collar displaced adequate water to allow it to float. Percy had been perfecting the design for four years and his "DD" tanks were first used in the Mediterranean. But, owing to logjams while starting up production in England to retrofit enough tanks for "Overlord," Eisenhower and Montgomery turned to the United States for help and, by April 1st, three hundred tanks were delivered to Great Britain for the Invasion.

Before the meeting at St. Paul's School closed, there would be two more speakers. The Prime Minister was one of them and Eisenhower was the other. George Patton was not on the agenda. In fact, he was not even "officially" in England.

After the Sicilian campaign, Patton was stripped of the Seventh Army and left in the palace at Palermo to brood. This was clearly one way Eisenhower was punishing him for the problems that he caused with the slapping incidents. Meanwhile, the Supreme Commander weighed the risks of giving the tempestuous general a role in the Normandy Invasion.

However, he did not dwell on this for long. By the time he was in Washington following his appointment at the end of 1943, Eisenhower's mind was made up. Recognizing Patton's undisputed ability to gain ground on the battlefield, he recommended him for command of the new Third Army, a three division corp supported by armor, which was slated to come in after D-Day at Brest, on the coast of Britanny, some two hundred miles southwest of the initial assault zones. The Supreme Commander kept this decision secret until he returned to England and did not even discuss it with his staff or Bradley, who later admitted, "Had Eisenhower asked my opinion, I would have counseled against the selection." His negative memories about Sicily undoubtedly still weighed heavily, but he was also hesitant because he simply could not believe Patton would ever accept the fact that he would be his boss.

Bradley maintained he did not tell the Supreme Commander about these misgivings, only indicating, "If Eisenhower wanted Patton, certainly I would not stand in his way." It is fortunate that both Bradley and Patton, despite their very high respective ranks and corresponding egos, laid down their arms and worked for the common cause of defeating Nazism for, although the story will not be told in this book, Patton's Third Army performed "in the highest tradition of the armies that have defended America throughout its history" before the war ended.

However, before Patton went to Brest, he moved to central England, settled away from the areas of the main build-up and spent time organizing and training his troops for their role in the upcoming Invasion. Meanwhile, his presence in the British Isles was used to help pull off one of the most important deceptions during World War II.

The Germans actually seeded this giant hoax with their unshakable conviction the Invasion would come at the Pas de Calais, which was some twenty-five miles across the Channel from Dover. From their logical point of view, it was the only location that made sense. But Normandy had many advantages, not least of which was the simple fact that it was farther away from the concentration of forces and supplies the Germans were building up to ward off the Invasion at Calais.

Another important factor favoring Normandy was the presence of the Seine, which ran from Paris to LeHarve and isolated Rommel's reserves across this river away from the planned attack zones. Bradley had figured the bombing offensives would knock out the bridges crossing the Seine and, in the best of circumstances, "the enemy might be hobbled in his race for build-up." Furthermore, Bradley pointed out, "Since this build-up would determine whether the Invasion was to stick or be thrown back into the Channel, the opportunity that came to us on the Seine to slow down the enemy was almost significant enough on itself to win the Normandy decision."

A deception known as "Operation Anvil" germinated during the Teheran Conference when Stalin suggested an assault through southern France in support of "Overlord." However, as desirable as this operation was, it fell by the wayside when the initial assault force in Normandy was increased to five divisions and additional landing craft could not be supplied for "Anvil." Consequently, the success of the Calais feint, which became known as "Operation Fortitude," was more important than ever.

"Fortitude" was actually devised to accomplish two things. Before the Invasion started, Eisenhower wanted to reinforce the steadfast German belief the main assaults would come at Calais. Then, after "Overlord" was under way, he wanted the Nazi command to deduce Normandy was just a feint, thus holding their reserves in place for the real attack later at Calais. Patton's appearance in England was designed to give maximum leverage to this effort.

But, Eisenhower's foremost concern was to be sure the Germans did not find out Patton would be heading up the Third Army in the Normandy breakout. That is why his troops needed to think of him as a "secret." However, the clever minds behind "Fortitude" added a third twist. They hoped the Germans might deduce Patton's proximity to the troop strength being simulated in Kent and Sussex to fool them about amphibious landing preparations for a Calais attack would mean he was actually going to command the ground forces for all of "Overlord" from Dover.

This notion was easy bait for the Germans to hook on to. Patton was, according to Wilmot, the "ideal bogey," and he was the Allied general they most feared. He was also senior to Bradley in Sicily and it was therefore logical for the Germans to believe Patton would be given even greater responsibilities for "Overlord."

The giant ruse to keep the Germans off balance was bolstered by their belief air reconnaissance missions flown over Patton's imaginary Army near Dover were producing real evidence of an impending invasion. From higher altitudes, German airmen photographed what they believed to be a vast array of troop concentration, guns, boats, aircraft, tanks and even depots and hospitals. But what they actually had were pictures of wooden and rubber replicas of an invasion city, complete with dummy landing craft and gliders. New roads and railway sidings, as well as "hards" for embarking tanks, were even visible in these pictures.

As the day of the Invasion grew nearer, real troops that were not slated to go into Normandy until after D-Day were staged here. Intercepted German wireless transmissions confirmed that the bait was being swallowed. As we shall see, the Invasion forces would not even have to pull back the hook when they landed in Normandy, for the Germans proved to be perfectly capable of doing this on their own.

However, not everyone in Nazi uniform believed the Invasion would come at the Pas de Calais. Rommel had become convinced it could come in Normandy for three basic reasons. First, as a military commander, he also knew a large well-protected port would be needed to off-load troops and supplies after the Invasion began. He weighed the same factors Bradley evaluated at Cherbourg, Brest and LeHarve. Rommel also determined that Brest and LeHarve were unsuitable and came to believe Cherbourg made the most sense. He knew that its harbor was better protected from the Channel. In fact, Rommel was aware of this because he had captured Cherbourg for the Germans four years earlier for many of the same reasons Bradley now wanted it.

He also had other suspicions. The Normandy coast was similar to the landing sites Eisenhower had chosen at Salerno during the Italian invasion and his intuition told him that the Allies would opt for another invasion in an area which resembled one they already understood, where lessons learned could be applied to the upcoming assault. Finally, being the master of tactics that he was, Rommel reasoned the Invasion would come in a rural area where his defenses were likely to be perceived as weaker and more dispersed, not at a major strongpoint like Calais where, amongst other things, V-rocket platforms were angled to strike a fatal blow before the invaders left England.

Rommel's thoughts may very well have been on Winston Churchill's mind when he stepped up to take his turn at the podium during the late afternoon of the Final Presentation of Plans for "Overlord." His remarks were subdued at first, carrying the weight of the serious day forward. But, as his speech progressed, his audience caught the infectious mood his confidence was spreading. Even so, Churchill ended his talk with a warning when he said, "Let us not expect all to go according to plan. Flexibility of mind will be one of the decisive factors." Then, reflecting on the hardships of the recent disappointing Anzio landings in Italy, which were suppose to break the deadlock in that campaign, he said, "We must not have another Anzio. Risks must be taken. Rommel cannot afford to concentrate all his forces against ‘Overlord.’ How does he know we will not launch another ‘Overlord’ somewhere else? He must keep a strategical reserve."

Unfortunately, one of the remarks Churchill made during his talk irked the Supreme Commander. The Prime Minister had said; "I am hardening on this enterprise. I repeat, I am hardening toward this enterprise." This expression caused Eisenhower considerable consternation for he interpreted it to mean that Churchill was unfavorably disposed to the Invasion - even at this late date. But, the phrase was a purely English expression; one his British colleagues understood to mean "the more he thought about it, the more certain he was about its success."

Fortunately, this misunderstanding did not completely ruin the Supreme Commander's day. He closed the meeting on a wry note when he told his audience, "In half an hour Hitler will have missed his one and only chance of destroying with a single well-aimed bomb the entire high command of the Allied forces."

Back on March 23rd, the 1st Infantry Division was told to be prepared to move into the marshalling areas for the Invasion on short notice. By late April, furloughs, leaves and overnight passes were cancelled.

Then, on May 7th, the order came down for the 16th and 18th Infantry Regiments to move out of Broadmayne and into the barbed-wire encampments near the docks at Portsmith. Convoys of troops hurriedly jammed the roadways, most exuberant and confident, some dreading what lay across the Channel, but all eager like their commanders to be briefed and to learn more about the big picture. But doughboys were always the last to know and the Normandy Invasion would be no exception.

The weeks before the Invasion had been difficult for these men, particularly for those who would be in the initial assault waves. They were anxious to go, for the lethargic air of uncertainty that had been hanging over all of England made every day longer than the one before it. Anything resembling normalcy was now long gone. Theaters, where one could smoke during public service messages, were out. The pubs, with its flat bitter beers and fish and chip specials served on newspaper, were off limits. Pretty English "honey chiles" were now hands off, and there would be no more complaints that the American GIs were "overpaid, oversexed and over here." Journeys to fog-bound London and sightseeing tours to Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussard's Wax Museum or Picadilly Circus were cancelled. The sounds of the big USO bands led by Glenn Miller, Cab Calloway and Artie Shaw were quieted. No more cracks would be heard from Bob Hope or Jack Benny at the GI clubs. Now, the big party in Normandy was all they had to look forward to.

However, the last few weeks before the fun ended were not without some weekend relief for Pfc. Baummer. In his last letter home to his brother, he revealed a little bit about what life had been like for him before the 18th was staged in Portsmith for the Invasion.

April 29, 1944

Dear Brother,

I received the letters you sent and I am finally getting around to answering them. I haven't heard from Mom, but I still keep writing to her so she will know I'm OK. If you can, would you send me a package of some things to take with me when we leave England. Razor blades and things like that would be real nice.

I still get a lot of letters from Gram and many other of our relatives, so I have plenty of people to write to when I get the chance. I'm still on good terms with my blond English gal and I have been seeing her every weekend that I'm off and it's sure a nice way to pass the time.

Well, brother, I have to close for now. I'll try to write to you soon. Take real good care of yourself. I sure hope to be seeing you soon.

As ever,

Bob

Preparation for war was not new to Pfc. Baummer. He had been doing this for three and a half years. But the intensity of the training had made his previous efforts preparing for North Africa and Sicily pale by comparison. The familiar issues before battle started arriving in late May. Sulfa tablets were handed out and first aid kits were given to all the men. This time they had syringes and morphine tablets in them.

There were some pleasant surprises, too. Instead of relying on their shovels, the men of the 1st Division were equipped with small blocks of nitro-glycerin complete with instructions on how to detonate the charge so they could blast out foxholes for themselves. Handkerchiefs with maps of France stenciled on them were made available. The compasses given to the soldiers were also unique. They were pencils with magnetized caps that always pointed north. Files, conveniently wrapped in waxed paper, were handed out so the men could escape from barbed-wired prisons if they had to. Green camouflage nets were fitted over their helmets, which were now adorned with Big Red One insignias. This was quite a change for soldiers who could not even wear their patches on their shoulders when they arrived in England six months earlier. Captain Murphy even made them all get haircuts so they wouldn't get lice.

Officers were issued the same things, but there was one exceptional difference. Rank had its privilege. Captain Murphy and his lieutenants each got a pint of gin and a bottle of scotch to cheer the Invasion with. They picked a night late in May for this occasion and early the next morning a hungover sergeant came into Pfc. Baummer's Nissen hut and barked, "OK, men, crawl out of bed, get dressed and fall out on the double. Ten minutes!" The doughboys scrambled, hurriedly dressed and went outside to line up in a double column.

By this time, Captain Murphy was there. The men of Company H all wondered what the hell their officers had dreamed up while they were preparing themselves for battle the previous evening. Then, a lieutenant stepped in front of the columns and snapped, "Aaaah ‘ten shup! All right men, we know you're anxious and this waiting has been hell for all of us. But, we've got to stay sharp and one sure way to do this is to limber up every morning until we get our orders to get the hell out of here." With this, Captain Murphy turned and led his men in a brisk one-mile sprint.

Pfc. Baummer had done this a hundred times before. Sometimes he did it during training exercises; other times he was chasing Germans. He was in top form, but some of the new replacements were suffering from oxygen deprivation in the first half mile. Murphy was working them hard. He certainly could have sent the men out alone and nursed his hangover, but Pfc. Baummer knew damn well he was showing the men of Company H he was their leader and they could follow him anywhere...if they could keep up.

And keep up they did. They also worked up an appetite and Murphy rewarded them by finishing up their sunrise dash in front of the mess tent. The morning meals the Army fed the men were surprisingly good and the hot coffee, eggs, bacon and sausage they loaded on their two-piece mess kits were particularly tasty this day. But, they didn't have time for a second cup of coffee, for as soon as they finished gulping down their meals, the same lieutenant who ordered them to limber up an hour ago now called them back into formation and ordered them to get ready for calisthenics.

It had been this way for most of May, yet the month also brought some visitors to the 18th Infantry camps. Eisenhower came, but he spent most of his time briefing Colonel Smith and the other officers of the Regiment. Most of the men didn't get a chance to see him. Montgomery had visited just before he was named ground commander, but his words of exhortation were lost in a defective public address system. But when General Bradley dropped in, he spoke to the entire Second Battalion. He had been direct. He told them they would be in the initial assault force and he knew he could count on them. "You held out at Gela in Sicily," he said. "We know we can rely on you during the next big battle." He revealed a little G-2 by letting them know the Germans had no more than a reinforced battalion, maybe a thousand men, defending the area they were going to land in. But, he did not tell them where this would be. That would come later. Once they established a beachhead, he said forty more divisions would eventually come in behind them.

Then he paused before wrapping up his pep talk. After some hesitation, he slowly said, "I wouldn't miss this show for anything in the world. Some of you will be killed, but a person who lives through this invasion will be proud for the rest of his life for having been part of it." The men were then called to attention and their eyes went straight ahead. It was a good thing because nobody wanted to see the look on their buddy's faces. General Bradley then hopped off the jeep he was speaking from and left. Colonel Williamson, standing as rigid as his men, held them in place for another minute. He wanted to give them time to think about what Bradley had said.

The officers of Company H and the rest of the Second Battalion were finally let in on the big picture during the Memorial Day weekend. They had been put on alert and then ordered to report to a mess hall in an empty barn across from an old stone church. The men took their places and then the briefing began.

The Invasion of Normandy finally came to life for the first time. There were photographs of the attack zones on the walls, all taken at sea level so the men could sense what the real thing was going to be like. Colonel Williamson, pointer in hand, stood up, and slapped it against the map. "Gentlemen," he began, "This is Normandy, France where you will be spearheading the liberation of Europe. You will be in the initial assault wave right behind the 16th Infantry. We are going in right here, at a point on the beach called Easy Red. We go in at H plus 195. We attack in daylight. We will go through this draw, marked here as E-1. The Second Battalion of the 16th will open it up when they land. We will come in behind them, move up to Coleville over here and get ready for a counterattack. Our job will be made easier by two things. A major air strike will occur just before H-hour. Then the Navy will pound the hell out of Rommel's Atlantic Wall. The Krauts will be softened up by the time we get there."

The maps and pictures revealed incredible detail. Circles were drawn around the beach defenses. The pillboxes they led their men in assaulting at Slapton Sands were now vivid and real looking. Some of the enlargements showed the steep and bare cliffs behind the landing area. There were diagrams that clearly charted what companies would disembark when. Everything had been planned carefully. More photos pinpointed machine gun nests, battery positions, anti-tank emplacements, even ammo dumps. A ten-foot square model made of rubber placed where the draws were relative to Coleville and what the inland terrain looked like for twenty-five miles. The road junctions they would need to seize before marching on to a town called Mosles - their D-Day objective - were plainly visible. By the time the meeting ended, these officers knew as much about the Invasion as the generals who planned it.

The pictures they saw of the E-1 Draw, their exit point off the sandy beach on the eastern end of Omaha, would remain fresh in their minds. So would their first impressions of Omaha Beach. It was not a good place to make an amphibious assault landing. Two cliffs, each about one hundred feet high, stood at either end and were armed with six high-velocity 155-mm. guns enclosed in three-foot thick concrete bunkers.

It was a perfect place for the Germans to set up strongpoints and their fields of fire were aimed right down on the beach. The beach itself was three hundred yards from the shingle at low tide and the piles of stone and the sand dunes behind this four-foot wall would be impassable to vehicles until bulldozers could be brought ashore to level a roadway. Meanwhile, marshes and thick, high grass would have to be traversed by the infantry before the farmland plateau 150 feet above the beach could be reached.

The Germans had laid out a thick barricade of coiled, sharp barbwire above the shingle. The marshes were loaded with charges of TNT and mines that would jump up to waist level before they exploded. There were also crosscuts dug in to trap tanks and other vehicles. It was a place no man dared to tread.

The E-1 draw was really a cart track that eventually wound up into the thickly wooded ravine on the plateau. Kraiss' riflemen and machine gunners lay hidden in fire trenches just behind the draw at the base of the bluff where it started to rise. There was even more halfway up and at the top. Hundreds of sunken round concrete-lined holes, housing everything from even more machine gunners to tanks, were carved into the slopes surrounding the draw. Bunkers with "88s" and even larger 105-mm. Guns, circled with mines and barbed wire to protect them from infantry attacks, were zeroed in on the beaches. The devil could not have laid out Hell any better.

As the officer's briefing drew to a close, Colonel Williamson told them to tell their men letters they wrote home would be held for ten days and any letters coming to them would be forwarded to their new addresses across the Channel. This drew the usual sighs, for letters from home and the little things that often came with them were the high spot of a doughboy's day and their officers knew this. It was especially disappointing for Pfc. Baummer when he got the news because the letter he sent to his brother Edwin requesting a few things before his visit to France had not yet resulted in the arrival of a package.

Edwin was still working for the US Rubber plant in Institute, West Virginia making synthetic tires that moved the Army. He was living in a boarding house in Charleston that he shared with three other men who worked at the nearby DuPont and Union Carbide plants. He had sold his gray Buick convertible and was now driving a dark blue 1941 Chevy coupe.

One of his roommates was dating a pretty and spirited brunette named Laura Jean Fox, who was from the nearby Ohio Riverfront town of Ravenswood, West Virginia and Edwin had a crush on her. However, being shy by nature and respectful of his roommate Dick, he kept his distance.

But when the plant where he was a supervisor threw a dance party right after the new year in 1944, Edwin decided to ask both of them to come along. Although he didn't know it when he extended this invitation, he was going to have his first opportunity to get to know Laura Jean better.

Dick and Jean, as she preferred to be called, came to the party reluctantly - or at least Dick did. He was tired, but told her "he felt obliged to go because Edwin was a new roommate and he didn't want to offend him." He should have worried about other things.

Jean's date had one too many drinks and fell asleep. Edwin, who never drank until he was seventy years old - and then just one glass of wine on holidays - did the chivalrous thing. He quickly put his name on Jean's dance card and she just as quickly accepted his request to have a chance to do the jitterbug with her.

She knew immediately he needed a lot of help. He was awkward at best on the dance floor. But, there was something about him that interested her. She had not really talked much to him before, but there was an air of self-assuredness about him that intrigued her and he was easy to talk to.

Edwin told her about his family, his hometown in Naugatuck and his brother Bob. She asked if he worried about him and he told her of course he did, but he had survived North Africa and Sicily and he was in England now preparing for the Invasion. Furthermore, he told her that his brother was going to personally shoot Hitler when he got to Germany. Then they danced again. Her smile and vivaciousness was growing on Edwin.

As winter gave way to spring, Edwin and some of his friends, including Dick, who had been a good sport about loosing his date to his roommate, all rented a cottage south of Charleston on the Coal River for the summer. The cottage belonged to Jean's roommate and her husband, who was overseas with the Army. It was perfect for weekend getaways and when Memorial Day rolled around in late May, they all decided to make plans.

Everybody worked Saturdays and Edwin had just returned from a business trip up in Connecticut. But in the early evening, they piled their groceries and themselves into one car - gas rationing was on - and headed for the Coal River. Sunday and Monday were spent relaxing, barbecuing and swimming. But, the weekend air had hesitancy to it, for speculation about when the Allied invasion in Europe would start crept into most of their conversations.

They all returned to work on Tuesday. Edwin had promised himself over the weekend that he was going to catch up on his writing and send a letter to Bob. He sat down the following Friday after work and finally got it out the next morning. At the time, he had no way of knowing his brother was now sealed off waiting for a vessel to take him to his rendezvous with the very important role he would play in the Normandy Invasion.

Charleston 1, W Va.

June 1, 1944

Pfc. Robert A. Baummer

Co H 18th Infantry

c/o Postmaster ASN 11012180

New York, NY

Dear Bob;

You can say that this letter came after a long silence and I'm afraid I have no real excuses to offer. I had to go up to Naugatuck on a business trip last week and found mom very well and still plugging away six days per week for good old US Rubber Company. Did some work around the house, taking the storm windows down and cutting the lawn and hedges along with generally cleaning up. She was pleased with the whole business and so was I because the trip enabled me to get home to help her at company expense. Helen is still living with her and they seem to be getting along very well. Saw some people around town and quite a few asked about you, particularly the relatives who said they have been getting your letters.

Find the draft getting somewhat nearer. Received my papers to take my pre-induction physical examination in Naugatuck last week, but had it transferred down here. Heard form the local draft board today and I am going to Huntington, West Virginia June 7th to get the business done and over with. There has been no change in my draft status and I assume that this is in line with getting all 26 year olds and younger processed. Can't get excited over it yet.

Will mail you that box you asked for tomorrow and so far I have some cigarettes, a lighter, cards, a pair of dice, some razor blades and other stuff. Afraid if I put candy in the package that it would melt and run all over everything, so I won't include any. Let me know if there is anything more that you want and I will get it to you much more promptly than I did this time.

Have been doing some playing around here. Five of us rented a camp and will spend weekends there this summer. Has four bedrooms, no running water and an outhouse. Just getting some training in for the future. Do have some fairly decent swimming on the river just in front of the house and there's even something that looks like a rowboat by the water's edge.

Write and let me know how you are doing, Bob. I will be certain to get that box off tomorrow. Take care of yourself and continue to have as much fun as you can. Give those English gals my love and keep your nose clean. You know what I mean.

Regards,

Ed

There were eighteen days during May of 1944 that would have been acceptable for invading Normandy. In fact, May had been an exceptional month of weather, so much so that the Germans were certain Eisenhower had blown the perfect opportunity to start the Invasion. Their high command, notably Adolf Hitler, Rommel and Field Marshall Karl von Rundstedt, the aristocratic commander of the German army in western Europe who privately disparaged the Fuhrer but showed him unquestioned loyalty in public, were now certain there would be no invasion until the Russians started their summer offensives on the Eastern front. Given the thaw was late that year, German intelligence determined this would not happen until mid-June.

Meanwhile, Dietrich Kraiss believed the Invasion was imminent. But, he was getting bad news about his fortifications at Omaha Beach. His staff engineers were telling him the beach defenses were not all they were made up to be. In fact, the report revealed just fifteen percent of the structures Rommel developed could withstand a substantial air bombardment. Worse, only forty-five percent of his bunkers would hold up against sustained artillery fire.

This information came as no great surprise to Kraiss because he had long ago concluded the much talked about Atlantic Wall was not going to deliver the promises Adolf Hitler had made to the people of Germany. But he expected his men would and made out orders accordingly.

He directed the soldiers at the beach edge to fortify their bunkers and gun emplacements and to relocate obstacles so their range of fire was improved and nothing was in their way. His men at the E-1 draw were given particularly harsh and demanding training exercises that emphasized tactics and target practice. Kraiss even permitted them to use live ammunition and he backed this up by telling his officers the men should keep it up until they "could shoot their weapons in their sleep."

Meanwhile, one of Kraiss' units gave the German high command another chance to test their theory that the Invasion was not imminent. One of his patrols captured an officer in the French Marquis - underground resistance forces - and tortured him until he started revealing information. What he said could have upset the Invasion of Normandy, but the only German commander who reacted to his confession was Kraiss.

Incredibly, the officer revealed the Allied forces were going to land in Normandy during the first week of June. When Kraiss heard this, it simply confirmed what he had been suspecting all along. He immediately sent a report to his superior, General Erich Marcks, and requested permission to put the 352nd on high alert. But, even though Marcks agreed with Kraiss, he denied his pleas to do this because he could not make the decision without approval from von Rundstedt's 15th Army group headquarters and he knew he would be turned down if he asked.

Pre-invasion jitters were apparently affecting the Germans, too. Kraiss became furious and decided to put his command on the line. But his presence of mind must not have surrendered to his anger, for his strategy in putting the 352nd on high alert proved to be very cagey. His division, in fact the entire Seventh Army that it was part of, was participating in war games during the first week of June. However, the games were really "map wars," staged mostly for the benefit of generals and battalion commanders.

Nevertheless, Kraiss' 352nd Division was an official, albeit not active, participant in the "ground wars" which followed. While the forces taking part in the charade practiced tactical maneuvers and attacks using duds, Kraiss, under the auspices of being part of the games, ordered his men to load up their guns with real ammunition. Technically he did not commit any violations of the prerogatives he was entitled to under his command, for Kraiss reasoned if his superiors in Rennes knew his weapons had real lead in them, he could not be faulted because, as the 352nd's commanding general, this decision was his alone to make.

Under this cover of conformity, Kraiss turned his back on Berlin and quietly ordered his battalion commanders to notify their men to point their guns out into the Channel and to be prepared for the real thing. It is also interesting to note Kraiss somehow managed to avoid Rennes altogether, for he even worked out a way to stay in Normandy to command his division.

As we shall see, the 352nd was the only German unit on high alert when the Yanks came. Rommel went home for his wife's birthday and meetings with Hitler. Rundstedt, who had told Hitler on May 30th; "It is true the hour of the invasion draws near, but the scale of the enemy air attack does not indicate it is imminent," would be only one of two German generals at his post when the Invasion came.

In the beginning of June, the high-pressure system over the Azores gave way to a low and the good weather England had during most of May dissipated and weakened. Bleak low clouds and gray skies displaced the sun. By the afternoon of June 1st, it was raining.

By now, General Eisenhower was in his Advance Headquarters, a cheerless trailer hidden in the woods about five miles north of Portsmith where British troops were loading up for the Invasion. Like many of the men who would invade France, the Supreme Commander's mood was now as dreary as the weather. He had spent weeks rehearsing the weather drill, often calling his forecasters together and pretending that day was the day the decision had to be made to go. "What would it be?" he would question. Through this, he learned who he could trust. This proved to be most fortuitous for, as we shall see, within a matter of days one of these men would deliver the most important weather forecast of the twentieth century.

Eisenhower had once grumbled, "Military text books taught that the weather was neutral, but that his experience in North Africa, Sicily and Italy had taught him the weather was always partisan, and on the side of the Germans." Certainly this was on his mind as the raindrops dripped from the trees onto his rooftop and windswept downpours rocked his trailer in early June of 1944.

In fact, the pre-invasion jitters that afflicted him before every major offensive were really taking a toll on his health this time. His high blood pressure was contributing to severe headaches and his stomach was frequently so upset he would double over with gas pains. His ears had been ringing for weeks. He was not eating right and he wasn't helping himself by drinking endless cups of coffee. His chain smoking certainly did not make matters any better, particularly when he lit up a second before the one in his ashtray burnt out.

Maybe he just didn't remember the first one was still smoking, for it is almost impossible, even today, to comprehend the immense pressures this man was under. His mind could easily have been in a hundred places at any time, for he would later say the mighty expedition he was about to undertake "was like a great human spring, coiled for the moment when its energy should be released and it would vault the English Channel in the greatest amphibious assault ever attempted."

Understanding the sheer magnitude of the logistical problems and the efforts of the millions of people who made "Overlord" possible would be an immense undertaking to describe. While other writers have made this contribution, a brief narrative is owed to the readers of this work. Omar Bradley, who aptly summarized the problems that confronted his First Army as preparation plans were being drawn up for the Invasion, offered one illustration. He wrote, "On D-day alone, First Army was to put ashore the equivalent of more than 200 train loads of troops...Within two weeks of crashing the Wall we would have landed enough vehicles to form a double column from Pittsburgh to Chicago. The more than 55,000 men who would assault the American beaches on D-Day came from approximately 200 individual units - ranging from a division of 14,000 men to a photographic team of two. Every individual, every vehicle, had become part of a monstrous jigsaw puzzle that was to be assembled on the far shore." Bradley also remembered the first iterations of the plan documents compiled to complete these tasks were comprised of "more words than ‘Gone with the Wind.’"

In 1942, when the efforts began to move men and materiel to England to prepare for "Overlord," the US economy was just starting to pick up steam. At the time Pearl Harbor was bombed, military spending was approximately $2 billion per month. But in the first six months of 1942 alone, the military placed orders for $100 billion worth of equipment, more than the entire American economy had ever produced in a single year. During the war years, 17 million new jobs were created. Pfc. Baummer's brother Edwin was but one of thousands of men in the synthetic rubber industry who were turning out tires to move the military. His mother was only one of hundreds of workers who toiled six days a week at the US Rubber footwear plant in Naugatuck, Connecticut turning out boots for the doughboys to wear into battle.

The steady influx of servicemen and women led to a population of a million and one half additional people in England by the time the Invasion began. The combined efforts of industry and workers on the homefront made the manufacture and deployment of five million tons of invasion supplies and equipment, including 8,000 airplanes, 1,000 locomotives and 20,000 rail cars, possible. American supply depots, ammunition dumps, repair shops, truck and tank part warehouses eventually joined camps and airstrips, creating what Eisenhower called "the greatest operating military base of all time."

Now this entire effort was being jeopardized by one factor far out of the Supreme Commander's control. June 2nd brought even more deterioration in the weather and Eisenhower's forecasters gave him no reason to think there would be much improvement. In fact, that Friday they told him things would remain uncertain both Sunday and Monday and the already low cloud cover would build up even more. They predicted the wind, while probably not gale force, would certainly stiffen. Eisenhower's chief meteorologist was a dour Scotsman by the name of J.M. Stagg, who was described by Chester Wilmot as "a tall gaunt Lowlander, a scientist to his bones with all the scientist's refined capacity to pass unimpassioned judgement on the evidence, a man of sharp mind and soft speech, detached, resolute, courageous." Undoubtedly Eisenhower would have agreed with this description of the man, but on this day he was more apt to agree with another observer who saw "Six feet two of Stagg and six feet one of gloom."

At 9:30 the following morning, Stagg forecasted an even more pessimistic picture for Sunday, Monday and Tuesday, June 6th. He told Eisenhower and his staff at SHAEF Headquarters in the library of Southwick House near Portsmith that the weather for the British Isles was "very disturbed and complex." Stagg went on to explain, "A series of three depressions were strung out across the Atlantic from north Scotland to Newfoundland." He predicted there would be strong winds in the Channel until June 7th with a low, dense cloud cover at 500 to 1,000 feet. "This synoptic situation," he wrote in his diary, "Is the worst and most uncertain during the whole time in 1944 that I've been in this job." What he didn't say, most likely because he didn't need to make matters worse, was he was looking at the bleakest weather picture for the area in almost fifty years. It was quite clear the planned pre-Invasion air strikes and even the Naval attacks were impossible in these conditions.

By now Pfc. Baummer and thousands of other first assault wave soldiers were packed like sardines aboard ships ready to head out into the English Channel. The men of Company H had moved from their sealed camp to board their amphibious warfare Auxiliary Personnel Attack ship, the APA Anne Arundel, in Weymouth Harbor. No one except Captain Murphy was permitted off this transport. All Pfc. Baummer and his buddies could do was wait in a mounting air of tension and hope for the order to go.

Meanwhile, General Eisenhower was in a nearly hopeless situation, but if the weather did break and the date for the Invasion - June 5th - could be kept, some of the ships that would have to travel from locations like Belfast and the Clyde needed to start out. The Supreme Commander really had no choice. If these vessels did not get under way, he was ruling out the 5th and he wasn't prepared to announce this. Not just yet, anyway.

Aboard the Anne Arundel, Pfc. Baummer and every other man in the Second Battalion of the 18th Infantry were frustrated. The day went by slowly, as frequent rainstorms soaked everything and powerful squalls whistled through the ship's rigging. The harbor at Weymouth was loaded with other ships where their windswept anchorages and docks all swayed in surges. Rising and falling vessels tugged at their dock lines, some parting from the giant cleats bolted to the planks that criss-crossed the disembarkation ramps. Pfc. Baummer, like everyone else in Company H, had already taken seasickness pills, but now the distinction between anxiety and nausea was a blur. Yet there was little they could do until word came but wait...and wait...and wait.

Across the Channel, beyond white-capped ten-foot seas, Kraiss' men on guard duty looked out hoping they would not see the Allied fleet they had been alerted to watch for. All was strangely calm between the villages of Vierville and Coleville. The weather was far less severe than that which England was experiencing, and the sun was actually out at times. Reports came in to regimental commanders telling them that things were normal in their sectors. Construction work on the beaches went on and units just above the beachhead continued training. Coastal forces were inspected and some were reinforced. A few reserve attachments were moved closer to the bluffs to shore up gaps in the line. Others were repositioned to strengthen flank positions. Men were digging in and trenches were quickly being finished so sleeping quarters could be connected to battle stations. One unit moved its tornisters, rifles and other equipment to tents under oak trees close to the beach and some of the men even took an afternoon swim with people from a nearby village.

Rommel, secure in his belief the weather in England and the Channel was far too severe for an armada to make passage to Normandy, left early in the morning to be home for his wife's birthday on June 6th. From there, he planned to see Hitler to convince him to release reserves when the Invasion was finally signaled.

Meanwhile, Eisenhower met with Stagg and his staff during the evening. Earlier in the day, there had been hope, but it was slim. Now Stagg dealt a deathblow to this when he declared his fears were confirmed. He then told the Supreme Commander's conferees that high winds, thick low clouds and some fog over the Normandy beaches would dominate the weather until the following Wednesday, June 7th, the last day in the moon and tide period acceptable for the Invasion. Stagg made a later diary entry that reflected the mood saying, "There was a grave gloom over the place," and when Eisenhower asked him if he thought he might be more optimistic the next day, he said, "No, sir. I was very unhappy about the position yesterday morning. Last night there was a slight tip in the balance on the favorable side, but the tip tonight on the unfavorable side is too big to be counterbalanced overnight."

At 4:15 AM the following morning, Sunday June 4th, they met again. Stagg basically confirmed his forecast of the previous evening, but the mercurial Scotsman offered a sliver of hope to the tension-filled gathering. He told them a cold front over Nova Scotia would be pushing through earlier than expected on the 7th and it would probably push the clouds away, but it would not happen until later that day. However, the rest of his forecast for the period of Sunday through Tuesday remained the same - "Force 5 (19-24 mph) on the English coast from today; less on the French coasts. 10/10ths cloud along the Channel; base 500-1,000 feet."

At this moment the Supreme Commander was surrounded by many people, but the three opinions that mattered the most were those of his commanders of air, naval and ground forces. Montgomery wanted to go in defiance of the weather. Ramsay was prepared to go, but doubtful, and Leigh-Mallory, charged with softening up the beaches and destroying the Atlantic Wall, flatly warned, "his bombers could not operate in the heavy cloud cover that was forecast."

Eisenhower needed no further prodding, for he recognized the Invasion would fail without air support because his ground forces would not have sufficient strength to overcome the Germans on their own. With this, he said, "It looks as if we must call off the sailing of our last forces and take the necessary steps to recall the forces now at sea. Are there any dissenting voices?" Stagg's diary dryly noted, "There were none and he instructed his Chief of Staff to inform the Combined Chiefs of Staff that the assault had been postponed by one day."

They would not meet again until 9 PM that evening. However, for Pfc. Baummer the waiting game had ended earlier in the night when the Anne Arundel cast off from Weymouth Harbor and put into the Channel to join the rest of the fleet bearing the soldiers in the initial assault waves of the Invasion. But, after Eisenhower's decision to delay for twenty-four hours was made, a coded message came into the USS Frankford, the flagship of the advancing armada, signaling the postponement.

What happened next could have breached the secrecy of the Invasion for, as incredible as it may seem, after the communications officer decoded it, he simply stacked the order on a pile of other messages where it sat for several hours. Meanwhile, the fleet had been moving eastward to meet up with the vessels that had sailed from Belfast and the Clyde and were about to turn south towards Normandy. By this time, someone determined there was something dreadfully wrong and two destroyers had to be dispatched to head off the Frankford.

Fortunately, there is no need for a footnote indicating the Germans spotted them before they turned back, and by Sunday afternoon most of the vessels had returned to port. However the Anne Arundel lowered her anchor outside Weymouth harbor where Pfc. Baummer spent an ugly night rolling in his bunk wondering if he was ever going to see France.

Later in the evening, but given the six hour time difference, still late afternoon in the eastern United States, bells on the teletype machines of the Associated Press suddenly started ringing throughout newsrooms across America. Editors eager for word from Europe raced to see what the dispatch was and seconds later at approximately 4:30 Eastern War Time they had their answer: "FLASH... EISENHOWER'S HEADQUARTERS ANNOUNCE ALLIED INVASION IN FRANCE." Anxious to beat their rivals in disclosing this to the nation, network news stations broke into regular broadcasts and within minutes anyone at home with a radio on, at a ballpark, a racetrack, or even a theater heard the word that the liberation of Europe had started. But, minutes later, the bells rang out on the teletype machines once again telling the same newsrooms to kill the story from London. At 4:49, approximately ten minutes after the first flash, station chiefs sent messages to their network hubs saying, "A KILL IS MANDATORY. MAKE CERTAIN THE STORY IS NOT PUBLISHED."

Eisenhower was again with Stagg when this happened. It turned out the FLASH was a stupid mistake, nothing more than a young inexperienced teletype operator's clumsiness while practicing on what she thought was a disconnected machine. The Supreme commander quite likely would have exploded if he had heard about the snafu, but at the moment his mind was on the most enormous decision of the war. And, this time the dour Scotsman had some good news.

"Gentlemen," he began slowly, "Since the presentation yesterday evening, there have been some rapid and unexpected developments in the situation over the Atlantic. A front from one of the depressions has swept farther south than expected and will come through the Eastern Channel areas tonight. It is nearly over Portsmith now. When that front has passed, there will be a period of fair conditions - less than 5/10ths cloud, base 2,000 to 3,000 feet and reduced winds; this will last till at least dawn on Tuesday. After that....." It didn't matter. Eisenhower's mind was already racing.

He dismissed Stagg. Ramsey quickly said that Admiral Kirk (the commander of the US Naval fleet) must be told within one-half hour if "Overlord" was to take place on Tuesday (June 6th). Bedell Smith quickly chimed in and said, "It looks to me that we've gotten a break we could hardly hope for...It's a helluva gamble, but it's the best possible gamble."

If D-Day were to be postponed again, everything would have to be recast in another two weeks. But, even though the tides would be acceptable, there would be no moonlight to help the airborne drops or bomber navigators as they flew across the Channel. It would raise havoc with logistics. In fact it would be nearly impossible to reverse the wheels of motion that had already been put into place.

The Anne Arundel was only one of hundreds of ships and other vessels ready to weigh anchor. Follow-up units were already moving into the marshalling areas that the initial assault waves had abandoned earlier in the day. Maintaining security would be a nightmare, for Pfc. Baummer and 170,000 other men in the assault waves were already briefed. Morale, nerves, pent up anxiety and frustration from the earlier cancellation all weighed heavily.

Other factors undoubtedly crossed Eisenhower's mind. Stalin had been promised a Second Front would be opened in the first week of June, not in the middle of the month, and the Red Army's summer offensive had already been scheduled to start. The vessels would have to be refueled if the Invasion was put off another day. Thursday would be too late. The tides would be wrong.

The Supreme Commander, whose authority at the moment could not be undermined by the Prime Minister of England, the Premier of Russia or the President of the United States, turned to Bernard Montgomery and asked, "Do you see any reason why we should not go on Tuesday?"

His answer was swift. "No," he said, "I would say go!" Eisenhower was close to a decision but he first responded reflectively with, "The question is just how long can you hang this operation out on the end of a limb and let it hang there." Then, seemingly already decided, he followed with, "Well boys, there it is. I don't see how we can possibly do anything else."

Yet, the definitive answer would again have to wait until morning, after Stagg gave one more report. Leigh-Mallory was still concerned about visibility and even if it meant Kirk's Navy would have to wait, he thought it wise to see what the morning brought in the way of weather. Eisenhower agreed but told Stagg before he left, "For heaven's sake, hold the weather to what you've forecasted for us. Don't bring any more bad news." Then he went back to his trailer to sleep.

When he awoke, the morning's weather would have tested the most optimistic person's belief there was a silver lining in every cloud. Eisenhower remembered, "Our little camp was shaking and shuddering under a wind of hurricane proportions and the accompanying rain seemed to be traveling in horizontal streaks. It seemed impossible in such conditions that there was any reason for even discussing the situation." But when that final meeting convened at 4:15 AM for the last time on the morning of June 5th, Stagg began by saying, "No substantial change has taken place since the last time, but as I see it the little that has changed is in the direction of optimism."

The rotten weather Eisenhower had referred to had let up and it was already starting to clear. Stagg continued by explaining, "The fair weather interval, which had now set here in Portsmith and which would clear all Southern England during the upcoming night would probably last into the late forenoon or afternoon of Tuesday (June 6th)."

Stagg later wrote the most authoritative account of what happened next. "Immediately after I had finished the tension seemed to evaporate and the Supreme Commander and his colleagues became as new men. General Eisenhower had sat, turned sideways, facing me, taut and tense. Now a broad smile broke over his face. Then he finally said, ‘O.K., we'll go.’"

Dawn was breaking when the meeting finally broke up and, as if it was an omen, the nearby woods were loud with the songs of birds. A signal was passed to the fleet and Pfc. Baummer woke up to winds that were still gusting through the rigging of the Anne Arundel. The clouds were low, but the rain had stopped.

In Charleston, West Virginia, his brother Edwin was sleeping, but he was looking forward to Monday because he would see Jean when he went to the doctor's office at lunch for a hay fever shot. When they met on the lonely Charleston street near the optical store where she worked, they talked about the Associated Press announcement they had heard on the radio Sunday afternoon. Edwin had told her, "I can’t believed it; it couldn't be real."

By this time the Anne Arundel was crossing the English Channel. This time it was real. During the morning a sailor had handed a bundle of folders to Colonel Williamson's staff officers and they had distributed them to the four captains of the Second Battalion. Within minutes, the small sheets in the folders were in the hands of their men. Most, including Pfc. Robert A. Baummer, read what they said in complete silence.

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen

of the Allied Expeditionary Force!

You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven for many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and the prayers of liberty loving people everywhere march with you. In company with our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts, you will bring about the destruction of the German war machine, the elimination of the Nazi tyranny over oppressed peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free world.

Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened.

But this is the year 1944! Much has happened since the Nazi triumphs of 1940-41. The United Nations have inflicted upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle, man-to-man. Our air force has seriously reduced their strength in the air and their capacity to wage war on the ground. Our Home Fronts have given us an overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained fighting men. The tide has turned! The free men of the world are marching together to Victory!

I have every confidence in your courage, devotion to duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less than full Victory!

Good Luck! And let us all beseech the blessing of Almighty God upon this great and noble undertaking.

General Dwight D. Eisenhower

Supreme Allied Commander

The Anne Arundel was eventually joined by over 2,700 other transports and landing craft. As D-Day historian Stephen Ambrose noted, "They came from twelve nations - the United States, Great Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, France, Belgium, Norway, Poland, Greece and Holland." They were divided into two groups. The Western Task force was comprised of over 900 ships, all designated for either Omaha or Utah Beach.

Pfc. Baummer and the 1st Infantry sailed from Portland and Poole out into Weymouth Bay where they were joined by follow-up forces of the 29th Infantry that had departed from harbors farther to the west at Falmouth and Plymouth. The 4th Infantry Division, including the former 1st Infantry Division Assistant Commander, Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., loaded up in Torquay then set out to join the armada.

The Eastern Task Force was comprised of 1,800 British ships loaded with divisions from Southhampton, Portsmith and Hewhaven, all headed for landing sites to the east of the Omaha and Utah forces in locations designated as Gold, Juno and Sword.

In addition to this incredible tonnage of transports and warships, there were other landing craft carrying Higgins boats that would eventually bring the infantry from their mother ships to the beaches. Hundreds more were moving tanks, materiel, supplies, food, ammunition, staff officers and reporters. In all, there were just over 5,300 floating vessels.

It was the Navy's responsibility to organize this massive undertaking and assure the armada's safe passage. This task was far from easy for the English Channel was loaded with mines the Germans had planted in anticipation of the day the Invasion would begin. Like land mines, each type they devised for the Channel lanes was both imaginative and deadly. Some floated on the surface and were detonated by contact or radio signals. Others were anchored. Some were even located on the bottom of the Channel, invisible to surface ships, but set off by changes in water pressure created when their hulls passed over them.

Admiral Ramsey obviously had a plan for this. He organized the fleet into five separate forces, co-incidentally equaling the number of assault divisions Bradley, Montgomery and others had fought so hard for during the previous spring. Their designations corresponded to the beaches they were headed for - west to east - "U" for Utah; "O" for Omaha; "G" for Gold; "J" for Juno; and "S" for Sword. When they rendezvoused into convoys south of the Isle of Wight at a designation known as "Picadilly Circus," there would be order to this immense flotilla. Each force would have its own "channel," five separate 400-meter wide straits with one mile between them, all marked with dimly lit buoys.

At 11:15 PM, just ahead of midnight on June 6, 1944, three destroyers - one from Poland, one from Great Britain and another from Norway - flanked to both sides of a fleet of 250 minesweepers as they headed south towards the Invasion beaches. In a little over three hours, the minesweepers cleared all five lanes and safe passage across the Channel for the rest of the massive flotilla sailing towards the liberation of Europe was assured.

The LCTs, each carrying four "DD" tanks fell in first behind the minesweepers. Behind them came destroyers, cruisers, and bombardment groups with rockets and battleships. Three of these battleships were pre-World War I relics, "old ladies" to the Navy men. Yet, each was destined to play a prominent role in the Invasion. The Nevada was the only ship to escape the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, even though she had been badly damaged. Now she was back in action and would participate in the opening Naval gunfire off Utah Beach. Omaha would be supported by the oldest battlewagon in the fleet, the Texas, and her ten 14-inch cannons were destined to roar in support of the infantry landings. The Arkansas, commissioned in 1912 with twelve 12-inch guns, would anchor on the east end of the beach and fire her opening salvos into the hills housing the big German barrels aimed down at the water's edge.

Following in their wakes were other destroyers, each flanked on the outer edge of their assigned lanes to protect the hundreds of landing craft and old transports carrying the initial assault forces. The ships towing the pieces that would make up the artificial harbors were broken into two convoys and were next. One convoy containing Mulberry A, was headed for Omaha; Mulberry B was charted to go farther east to support the British and Canadian landings. Both rows were hauled across the hundred-mile wide Channel in groups of ten, making an average of only three knots while the rest of the fleet pulled ahead of them.

It was a miracle the massive fleet, what Eisenhower called this "bridge" across the English Channel, these ships containing the liberators of Europe, was never spotted by the Germans. Two factors substantially contributed to this. The springtime bombings had rendered the German Luftwaffe helpless and now the Allies mastered the air. Rommel's weekly Situation Report on June 5th was revealing:

"Systematic continuation and intensification of enemy air-raids (Bradley noted that by June 5th "Every railroad bridge had been knocked out across the Seine between Rouen and Paris....the northwest corner of France had been isolated")....indicates an advance in enemy's preparations for invasion....since 1 June 44 increased transmissions on radio of warning messages to French Resistance organizations, (but) judging from experience to date (this is) not explicable as an indication of invasion being imminent....air reconnaissance showed no great increase of landing craft in Dover area. Other harbors on England's south coast NOT visited by reconnaissance aircraft."

Thankfully, the Germans had missed the movement of the fleet from the moment it started. Rommel's report also apparently influenced Hitler's decision not to launch the V-rockets just yet.

Another saving grace was the weather. By mid-day on June 5th, the skies had started to clear in the Channel. Stagg's forecast was correct. But his opposite numbers in the German meteorological services were at a substantial disadvantage because they had lost their weather stations in Greenland and were without reports from U-boats that once dominated the Atlantic. Consequently, they were unable to predict the hole in the weather that Stagg had seen, and the German High Command believed their storm and high wind projections through the 7th would make the Channel totally unsuitable for an amphibious crossing. Even though Rommel had said, "Survey urgently needed of harbor moorings on the entire English south coast by air reconnaissance," the weather, and reports it would not improve, kept his planes grounded. The Germans had also apparently forgotten about the Invasion of Sicily just one year earlier, where the Allied fleet advanced to the island's shores under the cover of one of the worst storms to ravage the Mediterranean.

There was one other ploy to keep the Germans guessing. Rommel was completely off the mark when his situation report mentioned that there was no increase in the number of landing craft at Dover. "Fortitude," the operation to make the Germans believe the attack would come at Calais under Patton’s command, accomplished this masterfully. In fact, there was a deliberate action on the eve of the Invasion to reinforce this.

Thirty-four small ships of the Royal Navy and one hundred and five Royal Air Force planes were deployed after dark on the evening of June 5th. Their destination was an area just north of LeHarve. The vessels were towing barrage balloons high above their decks so they would create large ship echoes on what remained of the German radar stations along the coast. As Chester Wilmot described:

"Above this ‘fleet,’ a squadron of heavy bombers flew round and round dropping every minute bundles of `window' strips of metallised paper which would produce false readings on the German radar sets. The aircraft flew in continuous orbit, moving gradually nearer the French coast to give the impression of a large convoy sailing across the Channel. Throughout the night, radio and radar stations in Southern England kept close and constant watch for the first sign of German reaction."

So did the fleet crossing the darkened waterways heading for Normandy. After traversing across the Channel on top of high seas in twenty-knot winds, the first vessels laid anchor off Omaha Beach just before the sun set at 10:00 PM. The big battleships arrived after midnight and reached their respective positions about twelve miles off the beaches. Destroyers maneuvered into position. Landing craft loaded with infantry bobbed up and down behind the LCTs carrying the "DD" tanks. Whistles rang out above the quiet of the night, alerting all hands to their battle stations. Aboard the LCIs, which an 18th Infantry lieutenant described as a "metal box designed by a sadist to move soldiers across water while creating in them such a sense of physical discomfort, seasickness, and physical degradation and anger as to induce them to land in such an angry condition as to bring destruction, devastation and death upon any person or thing in sight or hearing," men were listening to "Now hear this! All assault troops report to your debarkation areas."

Within minutes, almost four thousand men and their officers started boarding Higgins boats that had been lowered into the rough seas. Once aboard, most of them had to stand and jockey for a place to hold themselves upright, for the boats were packed not only with frightened and seasick men, but also with mortars to throw into the German positions, bangalore torpedoes to blow through the barbed-wire obstructions, machine guns, rifles and packs of personal gear. Once loaded, the boats pulled away and began to circle, waiting for others.

Most of the men were now terrified, not certain whether the first explosion of the guns would be from their fleet or the German positions on shore. In the midst of the chaos, they waited and, those that believed, prayed.

Pfc. Baummer had started praying before he boarded the Anne Arundel in Weymouth Harbor. On May 28th, before he left Broadmayne to be sealed off, tragedy struck in the Second Battalion's marshalling area when a rogue German plane broke through the radar nets and dropped two bombs. One had failed to explode, but the second blew apart several Nissen Huts located near his. Two men were killed and another severely injured seventeen were carried away. One of the dead men was on Colonel Williamson's staff in Headquarters Company. The tragedy had a profound effect on Pfc. Baummer, for he was now more certain then ever that there was no control over when his number might be up.

A couple of days later, a story spread throughout the division. It happened when a column of men was marching past a crowd of well wishers on their way to board their ships. British men, women and children were all waving, bolstering their spirits with chants of "Good luck" and "We love ya, Yanks!" Many had their hands above their heads with their fingers spread in a V-for-Victory salute. But, all of a sudden a little boy broke away from his mother and ran up to a sergeant in the middle of the marchers and called out, "You won't come back!" The boy's mother was horrified. She closed in on her son, grabbed him by the collar and, with a quick jerk, picked him up and ran towards the head of the column. By now, the boy was hysterical, sobbing madly but in search of redemption. He found it after his mother put him down. While the entire line of 1st Division soldiers marched by, the boy repeated again and again for all to hear, "You will come back. You will!"

It is impossible for men going into battle to not be preoccupied about death in some way. But thoughts of being killed were usually kept to themselves, most not wanting to break the unspoken code to never let their buddies down and show fear. Pfc. Baummer undoubtedly made his peace with God as he crossed the Channel with little more to do than just wait and stare out at the endless stream of ghoul-like ships, silhouetted against the hazy moonlight, punching through the blackened water all around him towards Normandy. It is also quite probable he finished this business quickly, for things were starting to happen.

He reached the far shore during the middle of the night and again waited. No one spoke. Many of the men had dozed off. They would wait their turn to go in. In the distance, Pfc. Baummer could see boats circling near destroyers that were lining up to move closer to shore. Four or five LCIs went by, their 105-foot hulls bobbing in the white-capped four and five foot seas, crammed with men in the lead companies of the 16th Infantry. He saw the twin gangways on both sides of the bow and wondered how these men would fare when those ramps went down. He looked around at hundreds of more ships crowding the zone, their barrage balloons fighting a twenty-knot wind to stay upright. In the distance, he thought he could make out the distinctive shape of the Augusta, General Bradley's command ship, as the sleek destroyer threaded its way through the fleet to take up a position where she would fire her eight inch guns when the Naval bombardment opened. He stared up into her rigging and, at the same time, he began to hear a low drone above the throbbing of the Anne Arundel's engines. His pulse quickened as the humming got louder, and suddenly he saw a plane coming over. He thought he recognized its shape to be one of the "Gooney-Birds" again, the big C-47s carrying the paratroopers in behind the beaches. This was it! Then he remembered Sicily. The big transports had been blown out of the sky on their way in over Gela Beach. Not again, he prayed.

The plane drew closer and Pfc. Baummer thought he saw a green light flashing under one of its wings. Then he realized it was not a "Gooney-Bird" at all. Now other men were waking up to the roar and all heads were turned upward, gaping at the sight above them. Then someone started chanting in cadence with the flashes coming from the plane. Pfc. Baummer was thinking the light shouldn't be on at all, that maybe the pilot didn't know it was flashing. Then some of his buddies faces started lighting up. He heard one of them yell, "Da, Da, Da, Dah....Da, Da, Da, Dah. They had sung the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" coming across, but this sounded more like the beginning of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

But, of course it wasn't. It was the Morse codes for V - three shorts and a long - another "V" for Victory! The pilot was leading the men who would be going in on the ground in a little pep rally. Then his light went off and he banked away, undoubtedly looking for German planes that might try to interfere with the landings.

Meanwhile, nearly one hundred miles to the west of Pfc. Baummer's position off Omaha Beach, the real "Gooney-Birds" were in fact underway in droves, ready to make sharp left banks and head to their drop zones behind Utah Beach. Their mission was a dangerous one, a task Air Chief Leigh-Mallory had been against for fear casualties would run as high as eighty percent.

However, General Eisenhower viewed the airborne assault by the 101st and 82nd divisions as essential, one of the guarantors of protection in the rear zones of the beachhead during the infantry landings. However, as firm as his decision was to stand by this drop, it is fair to say the tragedies during the jumps on the night of the Sicilian Invasion were certainly on his mind.

Just as Churchill had been haunted by the First War, Dunkirk and Dieppe and, as Chester Wilmot noted, the thought of the "Channel tides running red with Allied blood," while the "beaches choked with the bodies of the flower of American and British manhood," Eisenhower expressed equal despair when he later reflected, "It's very hard to look a man in the eye when you fear that you are sending him to his death."

But look them in the eye he did! Eisenhower's day before the Invasion started with Stagg's forecast, some sleep and then a conference in the morning with the pool journalists who would be covering the Invasion. He then went over to the South Parade Pier in Portsmith to watch Montgomery's Tactical Headquarters load up. While he was there, the clouds disappeared and he interrupted his brief press meeting to say, "By George, there is some sun."

Messages came from Washington, London; even Marshall and President Roosevelt. Montgomery and others came into his trailer headquarters all day bearing Godspeed. Churchill and a dozen others had come to pay their respects the previous evening. They drained some Scotch and cheered the mighty endeavor. The Prime Minister's request to cross the Channel and witness the Invasion aboard a British destroyer had just been vetoed by King George and Churchill wanted to be sure the Supreme Commander was also planning to stay put in England. He did not need to worry. Eisenhower had a frantic day planned.

But, his loyal Naval aide, Captain Harry Butcher, also wanted him to relax. Before lunch, he convinced his boss to sit down and play a game of "Fox and Hounds," and the Supreme commander had a lucky streak playing the hound and won. Butcher then retreated to a game of Cracker Jack checkers, hoping to even the score when he ringed Eisenhower's one remaining king with two of his own. But, the Supreme Commander counterattacked, jumped one of the kings and the game ended in a draw. He was on a roll.

After a hurried lunch filled with banter about a stateside senatorial campaign and some lighter topics, Butcher led him to another conference where newsmen from the BBC, United Press and NBC were hosted in such a fashion that he held them on the edge of their seats, to which Butcher added in his diary, "The nonchalance with which he announced that we were attacking in the morning and the feigned nonchalance with which the reporters absorbed it was a study in suppressed emotion which would interest any psychologist."

The afternoon was marred by a message from French President DeGaulle, whose country was about to be liberated. Apparently, he objected to a paragraph in the prepared text to be read to the French people on D-Day, which did not clearly state he was the exclusive authority in his about to be freed homeland. According to Butcher, Eisenhower said, "If he didn't come through, we'll deal with someone else." He then closed his diary entry of June 5th with "Got to go to dinner."

At 6 PM, Eisenhower stopped everything he was doing. He had something important to do, something that turned out to be the most memorable event of the war for his driver, Kay Summersby. The Supreme Commander wanted to go up to Newbury to watch the 101st Airborne paratroopers take off on their mission to capture the causeways behind Utah Beach. They would be the first American forces to land in Normandy.

Eisenhower did not want a high profile event, even though several reporters went along. The flag on his staff car was not flying. He had even ordered his four-star red plate covered for the brief drive up. When the entourage arrived at the field, Eisenhower unceremoniously disembarked and walked out to greet as many of the blackened faces of the paratroopers as he could and wander with them, stepping over their packs, guns and a variety of equipment, so he could personally wish them well. But his anonymity was soon breached, for when they all realized who he was, Kay Summersby remembered, "The word went from group to group like the wind blowing across a meadow, and then everybody went crazy. The roar was unbelievable. They cheered and whistled ‘Good old Ike.’"

If Leigh-Mallory were to be believed, most of these men were presumably heading to their death. But as the man responsible for sending them there walked among these brave, young paratroopers, most of whom were heading into battle for the first time of their lives, their spirit belied their fate. One after another offered lighthearted bantered to their Supreme Commander.

Eisenhower started by telling their lead officer, Major General Maxwell D. Taylor, "I don't know if your boys will scare the Germans, but they sure as hell scare me." Then he moved on and came across a twenty-two year old platoon commander from Michigan and told him, "Great fishing there; been there several times, and I like it." This man felt obliged to respond and he did, telling Eisenhower he was well briefed, his troops were ready and he didn't think they would have much of a problem. Somebody a few yards away then barked out, "Now quit worrying General, we'll take care of this thing for you."

Eisenhower next spotted a paratrooper from Pennsylvania and asked him if he got his broad shoulders working in a coal mine, and then questioned a young farmer from South Dakota on how much wheat he yielded per acre. Turning to farmland he was more familiar with, he asked if there was anybody there from Kansas. Sure enough there was, but the soldier froze up when the most famous person from his home state addressed him. The poor paratrooper couldn't even remember his name, but one of his buddies saved him when he yelled, "Tell 'em your name, Oyler." However, his fellow Midwesterner spared him further embarrassment and simply cheered with, "Go get 'em Kansas."

Before it was over, Eisenhower met others but when he addressed a small group and told them not to worry because they had the best equipment and leaders in the world, a sergeant from Texas rallied with, "Hell, we ain't worried, General. It's the Krauts that ought to be worried now." Then, just in case Eisenhower's job security waned or he had nothing to do after the war, this same Texan who was a farm boy, offered his Supreme Commander, who was destined to become the 34th President of the United States, a job when the war ended.

At 10:00 PM, the party was over, for it was time for these men to leave. "Chutes up!" was heard all over the field and the men of the 101st Airborne hurriedly marched to board their "Gooney-Birds," which had been painted with conspicuously white stripes to avoid another Sicilian disaster. Beneath the roar of hundreds of engines, everyone said their good-byes. For the moment, rank was forgotten. Eisenhower shook hands with General Taylor, then saluted private after private as each climbed up the ramps into their planes. The Supreme commander took note of one of them, a short man he remembered who "snapped him a salute, then turned to the east and called out, ‘Look out Hitler. Here we come!’"

Indeed they were. Within minutes, the "Gooney-Birds" were lined up on the runways, running up their engines, doing final checks, then taking off in ten second intervals into the sky, circling against the back-drop of a spectacular sunset, now fading light over the horizon. The Supreme Commander waited until they were all airborne. By this time, darkness was falling and Kay Summersby remembered, "The moon had come up. It was a full moon, so brilliant that it cast shadows. The planes, wheeling like some immense flock of birds, blotted it out from time to time. It was a gigantic moment! My heart was pounding."

Meanwhile, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the man burdened with the responsibility for the Normandy decisions to liberate Europe, paced back towards the headquarters building of the 101st Airborne and climbed up on the roof. There, with his hands in his pocket, and his face tipped towards the sky, he watched. It was midnight. D-Day had started.

When he returned to his car, he was a man terribly alone in thought. But, when Summersby swung his door open, he turned to her and said, "Well, it's on. No one can stop it now." Then, setting aside his Swiss-German upbringing and the breeding of every man in his generation to suppress emotion, he wept.

At 6:40 AM in the morning, the phone rang out in his trailer at Portsmith. H-hour at Omaha was ten minutes earlier at 6:30, and it could have been news from the beaches. But, it wasn't. It was Leigh-Mallory, the airborne mission doomsday forecaster. Harry Butcher took the call, repaired in his pajamas to a secure phone in a nearby tent, put on a headset and listened to the scrambled news. The "Overlord" Air Marshall, according to Butcher, "was filled with information, good information.... surprisingly, only twenty one of the American C-47s out of 850 were missing...on the British, eight were AWOL out of some 400...amazing good luck...it went off smooth, smooth indeed."

Eisenhower had dozed on and off all night, but at one point he woke up to the roaring of planes, as wave after wave of bombers screamed across the Channel to provide air support for the men landing on the beaches. But, now Butcher found him up "silhouetted in bed behind a Western... grinning as he lit a cigarette," for he had just talked to Admiral Ramsey and things were going according to plan. His ships were ready to serenade the beaches.

One hundred miles away, in a rolling, surging sea ten miles off the Normandy coast, Private First Class Robert A. Baummer was just beginning to hear the same roar which had awakened the Supreme Allied Commander as hundreds of planes drummed across the early morning sky above him. He was scared to death, wet and shaking. The smell of diesel fuel filled his nostrils. It was the same for the other men in his squad who were squatted down in his LCVP next to him. One by one, they had disembarked from the Anne Arundel as her davits lowered their thirty-six foot long and ten-foot wide LCVP into the choppy water. They had slipped down the nets onto the steel floorboards of this cigar box-shaped transport and huddled together, watching wave after wave break over the square plywood ramp at the back of the LCVP that would soon lower and drop them at the beach. The formations of bombers and fighter planes screamed overhead, closer now, drowning out the last words of good luck exchanged between the volunteer from Naugatuck, Connecticut and his buddies - Johnny Buys, Harry Cohen, Warren Herman, Bertie Howard, Corporal Sarnecki, Ralphy Spinese, Corporal Sproull, Paul Stegall and Billy Uhouse.

In the quiet Norman villages on the French shore, leaders of the underground movement were anxiously anticipating the Invasion. On June 1st, the BBC had carried the first verse of the popular French poem by Paul Verlaine, entitled "Chason d'Automne." As "Les sanglots longs des violons d'automne" was softly spoken, hope ran high for when the second verse was subsequently recited, it would mean the Invasion was less than forty-eight hours away.

Three days later, on the stormy night of June 4th, pulses rushed madly when the tranquil strains of "Blessent mon coeur d'une langueur monotone," the second verse, filled the airwaves. For a country occupied for four years by Nazi terrorism, this sweet verse meant their liberation was nearing. It would probably come on June 6th.

It was just after midnight when the phone rang at the command post of a German lieutenant colonel as he was nodding off to sleep in his bunker above Omaha Beach. The voice at the other end was excited, agitated and abrupt. "Obertsleutenant," he rushed, "Enemy parachute troops have landed at Caen. All units of the 352nd are hereby ordered to Alert Stage II!" Then he hung up. The colonel hurriedly put on his uniform jacket and rang Dietrich Kraiss' headquarters in Littry, gave him the report, then ordered his staff to alert all subordinate units in the division. Meanwhile, a report came in from a regimental commander informing him that his men were in hand-to-hand combat with American paratroopers at the Caretan Canal. The commander did not know it at the time, but he was engaging the men of the 101st Airborne who had been seen off by Eisenhower after sunset in England just two hours earlier.

Within minutes, other officers of the 352nd Division were being kicked awake and told, "Raus, raus! Everybody up. Get into full combat gear. This is it - the Invasion! Have all men report to their stations, quickly!" Moments later, gun crews all over the beachhead at Omaha were ready to fire. But most of them looked out into the darkness of the empty Channel and saw nothing. They quickly became convinced it was another false alarm, but their commanders quietly briefed them about the airborne drops at Carentan and told them they could expect the Allied landings to begin at dawn.

This was not the first signal the Germans heard forewarning D-Day was upon them. They knew about the announcement of Verlaine's poem and passed the broadcasting of the second verse to Rommel, but all he intended to do was tell Hitler about it when he saw him after his wife's birthday. It turned out to be a gross error. Earlier in the evening of June 5th, the French Service of the BBC began broadcasts during "The Voice of SHAEF" which were longer than usual. The messages revealed, "In due course instructions of great importance will be given to you through this channel, but it will not be possible to give these instructions at a previously announced time. Therefore, you must get in the habit of listening at all hours."

This message was intercepted at Rundstedt's headquarters in Calais and, even though radar stations were also being jammed off the coast as part of the "Fortitude" deception, again no special alerts were issued. However, Rommel's headquarters near Calais, mindful of Verlaine's verses, the "Voice of SHAEF" broadcast and the radar reports, deduced something might indeed be up and issued "Most Urgent" signals to reserves north of the Seine River - but only near Calais. No other unit, including Kraiss' 352nd Division, was notified for, if the warning was real, the German High Command was certain the attack was going to come where they expected - at Calais, not Normandy.

Meanwhile, Kraiss' men were responding to the call of alarm above the E-1 draw between Coleville and St. Laurent. Officers blitzed out to their men, "Highest alarm status and you better hurry. This time it's for real!" Machine gunners and riflemen dashed to their posts, loaded up and prepared to fire. But, the minutes ticked by slowly in deafening silence while these men shivered from coldness and fear, many still convinced the blackness they saw out in the Channel meant it was still a false alarm.

However, not far away, men at an artillery observation post were beginning to see something different. The morning light was just starting to fill in from the east and the men at this station were certain they were seeing ships through the heavy shroud of mist on the horizon. Back on the beach at another observation post just west of the E-1 draw, the haze of first light was giving other men the opportunity to scan the same horizon with their field glasses. What they saw shocked them, for mastheads were now appearing in their lenses. One officer cleaned his field glasses to be sure he wasn't seeing a mirage. Another switched pairs with the man next to him to make sure they were both not mistaken. Yet, the ships did not go away and a messenger was hurriedly sent to Kraiss' command post with a quickly scribbled note saying, "Thousands of ships in front of us - the invasion is at our doorstep!"

By now every man on Omaha Beach was wide awake and the faces of their comrades convinced most of them that the worst day of their life was about to begin. Then, at about 5:30, someone spotted a flare in the distance and within seconds the unmistakable rumble of engines was roaring towards them, quickly becoming deafening as heavy bombers were heard far atop the low clouds in the gray skies above.

Moments later, the lead B-17 Flying Fortress of the United States Eighth Air Force started dropping its bombs. Another 445, organized into thirty-six ship formations, were right behind. Within minutes fires were raging out of control in the bluffs behind Omaha. Sand and rocks were exploding in the hillsides, and debris was being thrown over the bunkers at the beach onto the plateau. Strongpoints were hit by direct fire. Rocket pits burst as black smoke poured out of the small villages and inland farmhouses. The whole earth around Omaha Beach trembled for twenty minutes under the enormous pounding of 13,000 bombs.

Then it was eerily quiet on the beaches. In the small village of Vierville, where the population was rudely awakened by the bombings, there was a peculiar calm following the dropping of the Air Force’s tonnage. But, out in the Channel, Naval seamen were working their trays of five-inch shells into position and gunners were sighting their targets and waiting for the order to open fire. Hidden in their bunkers across Omaha Beach, thousands of Kraiss' men stared out at the immense fleet as it closed in. Then, the guns turned and the Navy’s opening salvos blasted towards shore.

Vierville was one of the first locations hit. Windows were shattered as shells blasted right through farmhouses and into the pastures beyond. The destroyer Harding took aim and sent forty-four rounds of shells at a concrete battery on the east end of Omaha, bursting mighty flashes forth and sending roaring, deafening thunder into the bunker holding the larger German guns aimed down at the beaches. Then, the Harding turned her turrets towards the Coleville draw and let off another hundred rounds before massive puffs of smoke blurred out her remaining pillbox targets. Undaunted, her skipper ordered his men to take aim at a house known to be storing ammunition that could somehow be seen through the smoke and haze above the strongpoints.

A German officer at the E-1 draw watched the fleet close in towards shore. Once the shock of the opening salvos settled down, he grabbed a fieldphone and ordered his artillery units into action. Soon after this, he directed one unit to open up on the USS Texas, which had just finished her opening performance on Point-du-Hoc. It was here that Rangers were scheduled to come ashore to scale its vertical cliffs leading to the top where several big German guns were supposed to be in position aimed down on the beaches. The oldest ship in the attacking armada blasted away, forcing great chunks of cliff into the sea and apparently destroying the casemates holding the guns atop Point-du-Hoc. But, while she paused to reload her fourteen-inch cannons, German artillery started taking aim. As the Texas lowered her guns to hurl balls of lead at the exit road beneath Vierville, enemy artillery fired back, according to one account, "very deliberately beating and pulsing like a deep-voiced tom-tom."

The Texas then rocked in the water, but not because she was hit. Instead, according to one seaman, she was answering "as quickly as an echo....furiously with enough fire to avenge the Alamo. Great clouds of smoke poured out of her. Flames spilled like oranges from a broken crate, blazing with her own fire until all the paint came off her guns."

A mile eastward at the village of Les Moulins, destroyers and cruisers stalked the coast, pounding away at German casemates and pillboxes along the bluffs below, while the dozen twelve-inch guns of the Arkansas took aim at a main battery right on the beach.

There was one close call. At 5:40 AM, while the bombers were coming in over the fleet, a few German fighters started down on General Huebner's command ship, the Ancon. But, what was a brief moment of terror for the brass later became a rare piece of live combat broadcast on the homefront, for a Blue Network reporter named George Hicks captured the stirring account on tape:

"It's planes you hear overhead now. They are the motors of Nazis coming and going....that was a bomb...another one. Flares are coming down now...you can hear the machine gunning. The whole seaside is covered with tracer fire....going up....bombs...machine guns.... The planes are coming over closer...firing low. Smoke, brilliant fire down low toward the French coast a couple of miles... I don't know whether it is on shore or is a ship on fire. It's quiet now for a moment.....If you'll excuse me, I'll just take a deep breath and stop speaking....Here we go again! Another plane has come over...right over our port side...Tracers are making an arc over the bow now, disappearing into the clouds before they burst. Something burning is falling down through the sky...They got one! The lights of that burning Nazi plane are just twinkling now in the sea and going out."

Along Omaha Beach, however, the bombardment was still not over. Salvo after salvo was still crushing the Atlantic Wall. Pillboxes were the main targets, but shots were being fired at church steeples in many villages. As he headed towards the west end of Omaha Beach on an LCI, Ernest Hemingway, then a reporter for "Colliers" wrote, "There would be a flash like a blast furnace from the fourteen-inch guns of the Texas that would lick far from the ship." Another reporter said he heard "thunderous explosions rolling along the shore, followed by high bursts of multicolored flak, and then a geyser of flame...the blasts were coming so fast that they merged into one roar. The shoreline became a broken necklace of flame." A seaman said, "It was as if Zeus were hurling thunderbolts at Normandy." A correspondent for the Baltimore Sun wrote, "There was more firepower than I've ever heard in my life." A lieutenant on one destroyer remembered, "It was like the fireworks display of a thousand fourth of Julys rolled into one."

A German lieutenant at the Coleville draw who was sighting his guns recalled, "A rolling pin of smoke, dust and flame came toward us, cutting everything in its path down with howls, whistling and hissing...mighty flashes and deafening thunder opened.... the rain of shells fell on us seemingly without end...it was as close to Hell as any one of us would want it to be." A sailor on the Texas watched a German shell skip between his vulnerable battlewagon and another ship. Then, over the deafening roar of bombs bursting in air, someone heard him parody his President as he smirked and, in a perfectly affected accent said, "I hate war. Eleanor hates war."

Then it was over and infantrymen were rapidly moving towards shore. Some were still rocking back and forth on landing craft in the wakes of larger destroyers near the beach. Others were already in the water up to their necks. Fourteen thousand rockets began firing over their heads. Many landed in the water in front of them. Some hit the escarpment past the shelf where the bluff started. Other firepower was igniting grass fires and blowing up mines in the hills. Then a few "DD" tanks crawled down the ramps of their LCTs and opened fire.

Through it all, Dietrich Kraiss remained calm, giving his men clear and succinct instructions. His orders were to "Hold fire until the enemy infantry had disembarked onto the beaches." By now his men were terrified and few words were being spoken. Instead, they were clearing the dust off their faces, wiping the sweat from their eyebrows, and watching the mass of khaki-clad GIs coming towards them.

Nervous machine gunners were jumping into position. Artillerymen were spotting their targets - LCIs and LCVPs - for a counter-bombardment to match what was hurled at them, but held their fire until the code word "Dora" came from their command. Some men were clearing away piles of debris. Others were hurriedly moving their dead comrades out of the way and trying to deliver help to the wounded. Many were praying at the same time.

By now, rifles were tucked into the braced shoulders of Kraiss' men in every strongpoint up and down Omaha Beach. The barrels of their guns were being steadied in one hand as the other moved towards the triggers of their weapons. Stomachs were knotted and tense, mouths were dry and neck veins were pulsing madly. Some fingers were involuntarily starting to pull back on the triggers of their weapons, and many sharpshooters’ eyes were even closing to aim. Then, as the first men of the "Big Red One" started pouring onto the wet sand on the beach, the order came down.

"Target Dora, all guns, range four-eight-five-zero, basic direction 20 plus, impact fuse!"

Feuer!... feuer!... feuer!

* * * * *