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ROMMEL'S LONGEST DAY
- Niki Sepsas

Probably the most momentous weather forecast in modern times was delivered on a rainy Sunday in June, 1944. It called for "partial clearing and more moderate winds on Tuesday morning, June 6." General Dwight Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander in Europe, and his staff had anguished for days over forecasts calling for a continuation of the worst spring weather in 40 years for France and southern England. This brief respite in the horrendous conditions was expected to last for only a few hours before gale force winds and heavy rains would again descend on the Channel and the French coast.

Eisenhower had postponed Operation Overlord, code name for the invasion of Europe, once already. He knew he could not keep secret from the Germans much longer the exact location of the Allied landing forces. And he could not continue to keep 150,000 troops, most clutching issue seasick bags, in the fetid holds of transport ships bobbing nauseatingly in the storm tossed English Channel.

At four a.m. on Monday, Eisenhower gave the order that would send thousands of men to their destinies over the black horizon. "Okay," he said, "we'll go." So doubtful was he of the outcome of the operation that he dictated a note assuming full personal responsibility for the decision to invade at that time and place.

Little has changed over the years in the sleepy coastal towns and farming villages that dot the quiet corner of northwestern France known as the Cotentin Peninsula. These fertile fields, heavy today with sunflowers, wheat, apples, pumpkins, zucchinis, and tomatoes, in earlier times yielded a terrible harvest of suffering and death.

It was from these shores nine centuries ago that William the Conqueror crossed the English Channel and routed King Harold in the Battle of Hastings. Five hundred years ago, Joan of Arc rode across this countryside at the head of her French troops fighting the English for Normandy. And 55 years ago today, the largest invasion armada in the history of the world was poised to strike here at the heart of Adolf Hitler's "fortress Europe".

On that fateful day, 200,000 sailors and merchant seamen in 9,000 vessels transported combat troops from ports in southern England to the landing beaches. Almost 10,000 bombers and fighter planes provided a continuous air umbrella for the ground and sea forces. Airborne troops were air dropped behind German lines to occupy strategic positions and prevent German reinforcements from reaching the beach defenders. After all the planning and preparation by the generals and admirals, the eventual outcome of the struggle ultimately rested with the "grunts", the individual soldier on whom the final burden always falls. He would wade ashore with a full combat load and his rifle to face a German enemy that had had years to transform these quiet beaches into a "zone of death" for any invader.

A half-century ago, these shores bristled with thousands of steel and wooden beach obstacles laden with mines and explosives. Another four million anti-personnel and anti-tank mines were placed at the water's edge. Hitler had appointed Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, the "Desert Fox" of North Africa fame, to oversee the defenses in the area between Holland and Normandy. A million tons of steel, 20 million yards of concrete, and thousands of bunkers, pillboxes, and fortified positions had transformed these Normandy beaches into a virtually impregnable fortress. Rommel felt, as did his Fuhrer, that the invasion force must be stopped at the beaches and thrown back into the sea. He remarked that "For the Allies, as well as for Germany, it will be the longest day."

The Allies came ashore in five designated invasion beaches - the British Third Division, with banners waving and bagpipes skirling, at Sword Beach; the Canadian Third Division at Juno; the British 50th at Gold; and two landing sites assigned to the American forces.

The Fourth Infantry Division, as yet untested in combat, came ashore on Utah Beach led by the oldest soldier and the only general officer to arrive with the first assault waves. Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, son of former President Theodore Roosevelt and cousin of FDR, suffered from a fibrillating heart and arthritis, but felt his presence ashore was needed to "steady the boys". German resistance here was surprisingly light and casualties were far fewer than expected.

Omaha Beach was a different story. On this four-mile concave strand dominated by 100-foot sheer cliffs at either end, the invasion almost came unraveled. The action on Omaha was the costliest battle of the day for the Allies and one of the most desperate actions in American military history. War correspondent Ernest Hemingway went ashore with the troops at Omaha and reported that "the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth waves lay where they had fallen". Ironically, many of the troops assigned to Omaha Beach, the First Infantry Division, were seasoned veterans of North Africa and Sicily. They were joined by elements of the 29th Division and a company of Rangers. It was only through countless acts of individual heroism that the beachhead here was finally secured.

Skinny, gray haired Ernie Pyle, probably the favorite correspondent of World War II GI's, had shared the hardships of the foot soldier across North Africa, Sicily, and Italy. He was with the troops again on that day at Normandy, and reported being appalled at the carnage on Omaha Beach. By the end of the day, the landing site was a horrorscape of burning vehicles, wrecked landing craft, and 2,400 dead and dying men. Eisenhower arrived two months later to inspect the area, and said it was a scene only Dante could have described.

At the end of the day, however, the Allies had established a toehold in Europe. Within a month after D-Day, over a million men had come ashore at Normandy. Beaches that until then had never seen more than the day's catch of local fishermen were transformed into giant harbors handling thousands of vehicles and tons of supplies that would eventually seal the fate of Nazi Germany.

Only a few silent, rusting reminders of that terrible time remain on the Normandy beaches of today. Tourists are still drawn to the area, especially during the anniversary of the battle that ranks as one of the most crucial in recorded history. Many of the veterans of the battle made the trip in 1994, the 50th anniversary of the epic struggle. The young warriors who opposed each other there a half century ago are now in their 70's and 80's. Rather than struggling under the infantryman's load of combat gear they splashed ashore with in 1944, they arrived with bifocals, gray hair, hearing aids, and brittle bones. Many were in wheelchairs. That ceremony marked probably the last major gathering of these old soldiers. With each passing year, fewer and fewer of them remain to answer roll call.

Many are drawn to the Normandy American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer on the cliffs overlooking Omaha Beach. This beautifully landscaped memorial contains 9,386 markers of those who died to liberate Europe. The dead include 33 sets of brothers and a father lying next to his son. Many walk the beaches searching for a familiar landmark that suddenly unlocks a memory a half-century old. Memories tucked away for years in dusty footlockers along with old letters, campaign medals, and faded photographs. Many, as in the movie "Saving Private Ryan", search the gardens of polished white crosses and Stars of David to locate the final resting place of their comrades who never saw the sun set that day.

These men are members of the brotherhood that Tom Brokaw termed "The Generation that Saved the World". During the various ceremonies across the country commemorating the events of 55 years ago, they will stand a little straighter, their chests will thrust slightly forward, and their heads will be held a little higher. Tears will be shed as the mournful notes of Taps echo again for them here and over the cliffs and across the beaches where so many young men died and so many others grew suddenly old during the course of that "longest day."

Lest we forget.