Reply-To: World War II Discussion List From: JOHN AUSLAND Subject: INF: LETTERS HOME: D-DAY The forty-ninth anniversary of D-Day in Normandy, a day still crystal clear in my mind, is approaching. In searching for a way to mark it, I have decided up an excerpt from my book which was published in THE IVY LEAVES, the publication of the 4th Infantry Division Association. The heading was JUNE 6, 1944, 4TH DIVISION LANDS ON UTAH BEACH. Other than a storm which increased the normal amount of seasickness, the channel crossing was uneventful. We boarded our landing craft in the port of Darmouth, on a bright, sunny day. Lt. Col. Joel F. Thomason (Tommy), commander of the 29th FA Battalion, and I crossed the channel on the same landing craft as Col. Van Fleet. (The others from the 29th were Capt. Lorton Livingston and T/Sgt. James Price.) During training, I was Assistant S-2 and survey officer. Tommy decided, however, I could be more useful after the landing as liaison officer to Col. Van Fleet, a position not provided for in the table of organization. After the landing, it took awhile before I found time to write a letter to my family describing that memorable day. While this leaves out some of the recollections which I will cover in my book, it gives some idea of how I conveyed events to my family. (This letter was written the day Cherbourg fell.) Dear Folks, June 28, 1944, Somewhere in France The last night our sleep was far from satisfactory. On a rough sea, our LCT tossed about like a bottle. Four of us slept in a space large enough to hold two. We awoke shortly after midnight to hear the C-47s, which had carried the paratroopers, come over. It was a beautiful sound - there must have been a thousand of them. After an inadequate breakfast, we loaded on an LCM that came alongside the LCT. We then moved over to pick up some personnel from another craft. With the exception of an occasional splash caused by a coastal battery, there was little difference between this and the dozen practice landings I've been on. H-hour passed us while we were still far from shore. We couldn't even hear the terrific naval and air bombardment we knew was going on. But we knew that right then a death struggle was being waged on the beach, one which had to be won by the infantry, since they were the only ones ashore. At last our craft touched the beach. The ramp went down. Automatically we went off the side of the ramp and into the water up to our knees. We walked ashore (one doesn't run in surf). Aside from rifles and machine guns firing inland, all was quiet. There were surprisingly few dead on the beach. Just back of the sand dunes several hundred German prisoners huddled. Already hundreds of people were organizing the beach for the largest amphibious undertaking in history. We went about our work of getting the battalion in and into position, a task not without heartache, since the LCT carrying B Battery hit a mine before reaching the beach. Soon after landing, I saw my first German dead. He must have been killed while running. Even in death his body seemed to be trying to surge forward. His helmet and uniform was all in place. He had been dead several hours. I could tell by the color of his skin. He was wearing glasses, still not broken. Moving up the road, I came across an American soldier lying beside the road. He was wounded in one arm. With the other he was trying to hold a match box and strike a match. I leaned over and struck the match, lit the cigarette. He was hit pretty bad. Neither of us spoke a word. What could one say. I moved on. The rest of the day was a whirl of movement and activity. At last we got our unit off the bomb torn beach and away from constant shelling. For the rest of the day there are only momentary recollections. Tough paratroopers wandering about, killing German snipers. The medics who dropped, unarmed, with the paratroopers, shortly after midnight. The sniper (we later learned he was 75 yards from our command post) who shot at us all day without hitting anyone. He was killed by a paratrooper who happened across him. The French people in a small village ignoring the bodies about them and waving to us as we went by. This same village was held for twelve hours by four paratroopers. That first night when all the men were nervous (trigger-happy) and shot at anything that moved. The dumbfounded glider pilot who had 200 Germans surrender to him, who asked me what in the h--- he should do with them. The thrill of watching the multitude of gliders come in and the multicolored supply parachute drops. And the dull thud of your heart when you watched the wounded and dead carried out of those gliders that crashed. These and a hundred other events made up D-day for me. Love, John Excerpts from Letters Home: a War Memoir, a book by John C. Ausland, Sondreveien 4, 0378 Oslo, Norway Internet: d_ausland_j@kari.uio.no CIS: 73240,2704