Preparation for the invasion stepped up at this point. The half-tracks were waterproofed for their cross-channel journey, guns were made ready, and cartridge belts that had been empty for a year and a half were finally filled. In addition to M-1 rifle ammunition, each man was given two bandoleers, a supply of hand grenades, puke bags, sea-sick pills and toilet paper. The food improved as well, as Jack recalls. “We knew it was getting close when they started giving us steak three meals a day.”
The outfit moved onto LST number 47 in the marshalling area near Dartmouth in the early days of June. For the assault on the beaches, they were attached to the VII Corps of the 1st Army, under the immediate control of the 11th AAA group.15 Capt. Herlihy, who hailed from Beechurst, Long Island, NY, recalled those last few pre-invasion hours:
The plan was for me to precede the battery (with A Battery, as I remember) and reconnoiter for positions before C Battery came in. We rode ot Darmouth with A Battery [Jack’s battery] June 3 and loaded into an English LCT [landing craft tank]…We went up the beautiful Dart River a mile or so and spent a beautiful night at anchor, wondering how much THEY knew. If you remember, for a few days before we left the camp in the marshalling area, Axis Sally kept telling us on the radio that they were waiting for us in France. Naturally, we figured that they already knew what we knew. The next morning we were in an endless column of craft, four wide, that went up and back as far as one could see. Then we spotted similar columns on both flanks. It was staggering and sobering—HOW could THEY miss all this activity?...We had each been issued $4 in French invasion currency, but as the cards and dice came out, the money went from many small piles of $4 each to one or two piles of many, many francs each…At 5:30 a.m. [now June 4] we slipped our moorings and eased down river, passing LST 281, with C Battery aboard but few awake…The countryside was beautiful and soon we met the swell of the channel. Laterthat day we rendezvoused in Torquay with many other craft. The next day [June 5] saw us in the channel, joined now by destroyers, cruisers and battleships…It clouded up rapidly, and a strong wind blew up. Now all the guns were covered up, and the spray reached back to the bridge, all the way astern, as waves broke over the bow. I huddled there with the English lieutenant and wondered what an artilleryman was doing in this clamshell which barely floated even with nobody shooting at us. As the waves grew, water sloshed back and forth on the deck, where the half-tracks were. As the men lined the rails, a trail of mails floated behind us. The thought struck me—if all the ships are like this one the subs need not see us, they could smell our trail. As the day worsened, I felt that practically nobody would be ready for action if it came. I guess the same thought hit others, for an American patrol ship hove to, and an officer yelled over, “D-Day has been postponed 24 hours until 0530 June 6th.” Several at our rail who were then losing supper volunteered advice on what he could do with his bloody invasion, but he ignored them as if he handled all his invasions this way…At 0430 [June 6] I awoke, put on my shoes and went to the bridge. It was dark, and we were barely moving in a slight swell. But on the horizon, hordes of bombers droned, tremendous bursts of flame and tinted smoke were all over; flack burst and tracers arched all over the sky. It was staggering. Then all the naval craft opened up. You’d see the muzzle flare, the tracer round arch into the coast, a tremendous burst of flame, and finally the roar of the shots would roll across the water. It seemed impossible for life to survive ashore. As dawn came, our fighters strafed targets ashore. We began to head in now, and as we passed in front of a battleship, the old Texas [Ambrose identifies it as the Arizona but Jack remembers it as the Texas, too], she let go a broadside that must have pushed us sideways several feet. Screaming and cursing at their lack of consideration, we inched shoreward. Shore fire must have been effective, for suddenly one of our P-38 twin-hulled fighters dove down and began to lay smoke just off the beach. We could see the enemy tracer creeping up his tail while he held the steady course he had to, in order to make the smoke effective. Finally, he blew up in a tremendous ball of fire, as a second P-38 resumed, and other fighters handled the ack-ack units. We were speechless at the fate of the unknown hero.16Col. William A. Stricklen Jr., commanding officer of the 474th, was nearby in another LCT with his own set of thoughts and concerns as the bombardment continued. He saw a billow of smoke 100 yards away from an LCT that had been hit by German fire. Stricklen helped pull a wounded soldier from the craft out of the water and took him to the dispensary. At 6 a.m., Allied fire subsided and his LCT moved forward again.
Then, about 6,000 yards offshore, Stricklen’s LCT, which carried about 75 people, was hit by enemy fire. Since the colonel had to get to the beach to establish his command post, he stopped a small Navy boat carrying only a crew of two and hitched a ride to shore. They let him out about 75 feet from dry land. At one point he stepped into a shell hole and was submerged, but got out of it. The water was no more than waist high the rest of the way.17
The video included below begins with the channel crossing and ends with the liberation of Paris:
The video included below begins with the channel crossing and ends with the liberation of Paris:
