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Just before 0630 hours, we're in a landing craft, a Higgins boat, a few hundred yards off the Normandy coast. Soaked to the bone and freezing cold, the men are packed in like sardines. Over the past two hours, their flimsy boat has been tossed around like a cork on the rough sea, their knee deep in seawater and puke. They clasp their M1 rifles tightly, check their gear, some clutch a crucifix, others draw on a lucky strike,
Maybe there's a glance at a photo of a sweetheart, sitting low in the water listening to the heavy chug of their diesel engines. These thirty-odd men have little sense of the bigger picture, of the bombers coming in, of the heavy barrage of the naval guns, the screaming volleys of rockets. They just want to get the hell out of this stinking bathtub, some avoiding their bowels. These men are the soldiers of the US Infantry's First Division, the Big Red One. They're battle-hardened.
Veterans of North Africa and Italy, they've seen some stuff, but they've never gone into combat like this. The landing craft slows, pitching and rolling. Higgins boats are made of plywood, though the ramp at the front is solid steel. A tattoo of bullets wraps against it, like hail against a window. The lieutenant counts down the seconds. Finally, it's here. 0630, H hour. Okay, he yells. Here we go.
It's got a folksy name, this beach. Omaha. It conjures images of midwestern wheat fields. Mum's apple pie. But as Big Red are about to discover, this Omaha is the ninth circle of hell. From the Noiser Network, this is D-Day. Of all the D-Day operations, nothing has captured the imagination like Omaha. Equal parts horrific and heroic.
This battle for six miles of shoreline has been popularized in epic works of cinema, from The Longest Day to Saving Private Ryan. Today, its broad curve of sand couldn't be more tranquil. A stretch of pristine Norman coastline, between the Vier River and the sleepy fishing village of Port-en-Bassin. There are military cemeteries, of course. Flags, museums, memorials.
Embedded into the cliffs, remnants of the old German bunkers are overgrown, long since reclaimed by the land. On a summer's day, with the trawlers bobbing in the distance, children playing on the sand, the coast is how it always was, before that June day, eight decades ago, which turned this idyllic beauty spot into a killing field. It's American General Omar Bradley,
in charge of US First Army, who is responsible for taking Omaha and D-Day. He is the one who gave the beach its homely name, in honor of a young private from Omaha, Nebraska, who was fitting out his headquarters. But there's nothing warm and fuzzy about what his troops will find there. Allied intelligence reports thousands of mines and tank traps, hedgehogs, Belgian gates, anti-personnel devices, not to mention the notorious Rommelschweigel,
named for the German general charged with defending Normandy, historian and author Giles Milton. The first thing that the Allied troops would see were these things called Rommel's asparagus. And these were essentially poles that had been stuck into the sand and were topped by mines. And the idea was that as the landing craft came in towards the beach, they would hit these poles and blow sky high.
Landing at low tide should expose the submerged mines and obstacles laid by the Germans, meaning the boats won't be blown out of the water, but it's a trade-off. Dr. John Curatola is a former US Marine and now Senior Historian at the National World War II Museum in New Orleans.
The problem with Omaha Beach is the fact that if you wait until the tide is out, that means you can avoid some of the mines and other obstacles that are put in the surf zone. But by the same token, that means those soldiers have to traverse that surf area wide open to cross. About 300 yards of open terrain while the enemy is shooting at you is significant. The curve of the shoreline also gives the Germans a tactical advantage.
They are able to fire on the Allied troops from multiple angles, enfilading them in military parlance, or as is more commonly known, crossfire. The high cliffs are studded with strongholds, bunkers and machine gun emplacements, what the Germans call Widerstandnester, or resistance net. They bristle with weaponry designed for industrial-level slaughter.
88mm artillery guns, howitzers, mortars and embedded tank turrets known as Tobruks. On the shop floor, meanwhile, are the MG42s, the meat grinders, Hitler's buzz saw, machine guns that can spit steel-tipped bullets at 1300 rounds a minute. The largest of the D-Day beaches, Omaha has been divided into four landing areas.
Labelled alphabetically, they are Charlie, Dog, Easy, and Fox. Each one of these is partitioned into three sectors: green, white, and red. And the Allied invaders know exactly what they're up against. They've studied carefully sculpted models of the coastline. They've observed every nook and cranny.
The sea wall, ten feet high. The rough gorse beyond the sand. The cliffs, not sheer, but steep. A hundred feet or so, offering a slow, stumbling climb. They know the terrain so well that when they go ashore their movements will be instinctive. Something they could do in their sleep. Well, that's the theory. Either way, the men assigned to Omaha are some of the best. The 16th Regiment of the First Division. The Big Red One.
Nicknamed for the bold scarlet numeral on their shoulder patches, are proven fighters. One of the Army's most celebrated units. They'll be accompanied by men of the 116th Regiment, 29th Division. Most of them are untried, many straight out of high school. Though inexperienced can be an advantage too. Eager to prove themselves, they have what's known as a high risk threshold.
and they'll be backed by two battalions of crack troops, the famous US Rangers. The assault force comprises 43,000 men who will be arriving in hourly waves throughout D-Day. The first wave, 14,000 strong, will come ashore in 200-odd landing craft following a ferocious artillery bombardment. Though no one would admit this at the time, it's pretty much the tactics of World War I.
soften up the enemy with big guns, and then charge across no man's land to meet them.
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In the early hours of D-Day, Allied soldiers pile into their Higgins boats and prepare for the short journey to the shore. Frank De Vita was Gunner's mate, 3rd Class, on the USS Samuel Chase, just 18 years old.
He would make 15 landings on Omaha Beach. We were 11 miles out because the Germans had a gun called the 88, which had a range of 10 miles. At 4 o'clock in the morning, we started dropping our boats in the water. We had 26 Higgins boats. We circled the ship one time, supposed to be good luck, and we headed towards the beaches. Suddenly, the Allied guns open up, led by the battleship USS Texas.
followed by a terrifying volley of rockets launched from barges. For the men about to go ashore, the deafening bombardment is a morale boost. Donald A. McCarthy was drafted into the 116th from high school. Kind of removed the fear that we had because we figured, gee, this is going to be easy. The excitement of seeing the rocket ships throw the stuff in, we figured this should be a piece of cake going in. Right on cue comes the rattle of bullets.
It's horrible, it's violent, it's bloody, it's terrifying.
And then as the landing craft come into the shore, the ramp goes down and this is the moment of truth. This is when you're going to run up that beach and you're going to come under machine gun fire. This is the most terrifying moment of all. This is what the men have trained for. But nothing quite prepares them for that moment. They gave me the job of dropping the ramp. We only go about 200 yards from the beach. That's as close as we could get. And the machine guns opened fire on us and the bullets were bouncing everywhere.
off the ramp. So the coxswain says to me, "Drop the ramp." I never heard him because the roar of the cannons, two big diesel engines in the back of the boat, never heard him. Then the second time he says to me, "Drop the ramp." And I froze for a few seconds because I didn't want to die. And then he said to me, he says, "Goddamn, Davida, drop the effing ramp." So I had no choice. I dropped the ramp. The machine guns opened up fire. Killed about 14, 15,
troops that were in the front of the boat. I was about three quarters of the way back. I had soldiers in front of me. They were absorbing the bullets. But I had two stragglers. They didn't want to die, so they stayed with me. They thought by staying with me, they'd be safe. Unfortunately, by staying with me, they were drawn fire from the hills. The first guy got hit, ripped his stomach open. And the other guy that was two feet away from me, he was a red-headed kid. The machine gun took his helmet off.
and part of his brain, a part of his, and he was crying, "Help me, help me, help me." I had no morphine, I couldn't help him. So he fell at my feet. Excuse me if I get emotional. He fell at my feet and he was crying, "Help me, help me, help me." I had nothing in my kit to help him. So the only thing I had was the Lord's Prayer. And I started praying, "Our Father who art in heaven," and I never finished it. - It's total chaos, carnage,
Men are being ripped to shreds. Those that aren't huddle behind tank traps, the bullets zinging all around them. For the more seasoned soldiers, Omaha is about as bad as they expected. 29th Infantry Division, we have a gentleman who's in the first wave with Alpha Company, with the 116th Regimental Combat Team. And his commanding officer tells him, maybe one in three of you are going to live.
And the same individual actually writes his sister and he tells his sister, "If you see the Western Union man bringing a telegram to mom and dad, you meet him at the door, you break the news to mom and dad. I don't want the Western Union man to break that news." Young or old, the soldiers going ashore right now have trained intensively for this moment. They're supposed to know the terrain like the backs of their hands.
but what they're seeing in front of them isn't matching the objectives they've prepared for. Once again, the unpredictable weather in the channel has thrown the Overlord plan into disarray. There's a ten knot norwesterly wind, meaning that men are landing a thousand yards east of the targets they trained for. Those in command of the boats have been forced to improvise,
I was heading for one beach, the Easy Green beach, but instead the coxswain, which is a British coxswain, told me we just ran out of space, we didn't have any place to put us. So they moved over and went from Easy Green over to Dog Red Beach, and that's where I came in at Dog Red. From the bridge of the cruiser USS Augusta, anchored offshore, General Bradley peers through his binoculars. He can see his men on Omaha are outgunned and out of position. And now comes a sobering piece of news.
The US heavy bombers intended to support the landing have also been affected by the weather. Nervous of hitting the boys on the beaches, they've played it safe and ended up dropping their payload three miles inland. Sir Anthony Beaver: "The visibility was still very bad on the 6th of June. They shouldn't have had cloud cover below 10,000 feet. Well, in fact, it was at 4,000 feet. So the heavy bombers couldn't even see their targets." Meanwhile, the naval bombardment
which overall is landing more tons of TNT on Normandy than the Hiroshima bomb, has barely put a dent in the concrete at Omaha. "The battleships were making a huge amount of destruction, but it wasn't accurate." Bradley had high hopes for this combined bombardment. He promised his men a ringside seat at the greatest show on earth. It's turned out to be anything but. And what about the other trick up the Allies' sleeve? The inflatable tanks?
The duplex drive vehicles take to the rough seas prematurely, 5,000 yards out from the shore. They simply aren't designed to float in this kind of weather. "The British realized this and they released them far closer to the beach than the Americans who assumed they would still be okay in big waves." Of the 64 tanks deployed at Omaha, half plummeted straight to the bottom. Sir Max Hastings:
"The crews of those tanks were suicidally brave because down goes the ramp of their landing craft and they start driving into the sea and the first one that drives into the sea, boom, just disappears beneath the waves within seconds. And the second one does the same, but they kept going." It's not just the tanks that are sinking. At low tide, Omaha is made up of sun bars, carved by deep, fast-flowing channels.
When the Higgins boats grind ashore, what they've hit more often than not is the sand spit, not the beach proper. Men are wading into apparent shallows, only to find themselves plunging suddenly into water up to 12 feet deep. Carrying over 60 pounds of gear, it's a struggle to stay afloat, and even worse for those carrying extra specialist kit.
All around, men are drowning, some of them just inches below the surface.
A lot of the guys had gone in with too much weight on them, and the next thing I know, there's just feet appearing. I grabbed one kid that was next to me that had already come up, gone down, and come back up again. And I grabbed him and used him as a shield, like a body shield. And we swam into the beach. The water was bloody and oily, and we were probably in about 10 or 15 feet of water. And I swam the best I could.
I got there and it was brutal. The beach was just horrible. The smell, the stench was brutal. Burning tanks, everything. No amount of training, even with live ammunition, can prepare you for what it's like to be thrown into the white heat of battle. Those that make it to the shore, pinned down, disorientated, their companies all mixed up, look to their officers and squad commanders.
Amid the hellfire of bullets, maps and binoculars are pulled out and the German snipers deliberately pick off the leaders. John C. Rahn was a captain in the 5th Ranger Battalion at Omaha. We passed landing control, which are boats about a thousand yards offshore. And they said, "Do not attempt to land at Vierville. The casualties are 95 percent. Half of them killed."
land on Dog White Beach. So we shifted over and we landed our first wave there. Two companies of the 2nd Battalion, and they were cut like everybody else on Omaha Beach, they were cut down to about 50%. All the officers killed or wounded. With their commanders out of action, men seek out means of communication.
I saw this kid with a radio on his back and I said, "Haha, there's my savior." I started to walk down towards him and there was an overhead burst took place. It hit him and it cut his arm off and it destroyed the damn radio. And I went down to him and a medic was with me and we tried to pull him up but his arm had been severed completely and the kid died. In the face of such horrors, some soldiers training deserts them.
There on D-Day were all these guys who've never heard a shot fired in anger. And suddenly they find they're on a beach swept by machine gun fire and mortar fire. And they're seeing people's arms and legs blown off. And they're seeing terrible experiences all around them. And what's amazing is how many of them reacted very well.
and behaved very bravely. But some of the others, when they find themselves being shot at, they threw themselves flat and lay on the beach, sort of waiting till the shooting stopped.
And this was fatal. But they've been told again and again in training. They've been told. But your whole instinct when you're being shot at is to try and sort of dig a hole, literally. I mean, I remember reading one account, a guy who said he couldn't believe it. He was seeing people trying to dig holes in the water. I mean, below the tide line. And you think this is unbelievably stupid. But when you're frightened and you're not very experienced, you don't know much, you do a stupid thing.
Out at sea, General Bradley is a helpless, frustrated spectator. He weighs his options. Best estimates suggest the first wave has sustained over 80% casualties. 30 minutes later, the second wave suffers 50%. The third wave has been held up by wreckage in the water, not to mention the sheer number of dead bodies. Bradley consults his staff officers. Can they call it off? Evacuate? Send the rest of their men to the other beaches instead?
But the General knows that allowing Omaha to fail is not an option. It would leave a huge gap in the Allied plan, isolating the US forces at neighboring Utah and seriously jeopardizing Overlord's right flank. What Bradley doesn't realize, despite his lofty view in the gallery, is that on the ground things are already starting to improve. The situation is changing by the minute, and the General is behind the curve.
Because at the western end of Omaha Beach, there's a glimmer of hope. Here, a huge promontory, Pointe du Hoc, dominates the coastline. Smacked between Omaha and Utah beaches, it hosts a battery of six 155mm guns. Not only can they hit anything this side of the horizon at sea, they can also wreak devastation on the beaches either side. For weeks, Allied planes have been bombing the position, but in vain.
The ground around the battery is heavily cratered, but the battery itself, according to aerial reconnaissance, remains operational. Lieutenant Colonel James E. Rodder of the 2nd US Rangers has been given a simple order by his CO: "Take Pointe du Hoc and hold it." The instruction is delivered as nonchalantly as a request to a waiter for a cocktail. But this operation is a tricky one, requiring specialist expertise.
It's not just that the guns are dug into impregnable concrete bunkers, surrounded by fearsome defenses. It's that the only way to access Pointe du Hoc is to scale its 90-foot high vertical cliffs.
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You'll find hundreds of immersive true stories. There's a world of podcasts waiting for you. Take your pick. Listen at Noiser.com or wherever you get your podcasts. At just after 0730, companies D, E and F of the 2nd Ranger Battalion are in their landing craft, approaching the narrow shelf at the cliff base. Once they're spotted, the Germans unleash havoc. But the Rangers are tough. In one landing craft, raked by enemy gunfire,
They break off to sing "Happy Birthday" to one of their number. These boats are cumbersome, slow and exposed, though they are at least made of metal. "This is as far as I can get you," yells the Royal Navy coxswain, before discharging the men onto the rocks. Taking hits from the Germans firing straight down, the Rangers pull themselves in under the overhang. At least here they have one thing that the men on the beach don't cover, for now anyway.
Pampered by mortar fire, Colonel Rudder addresses his men, all 216 of them. "Now come on, Rangers. Show them what you're worth." Grappling hooks are fired. Men begin shimmying up ropes. Some carry extra-long ladders they've borrowed from the London Fire Brigade. From the cliffs, the Germans fire down on them. But the Rangers climb and climb and climb.
Some drop suddenly down onto the rocks below when an enemy knife cuts through their line. But against astonishing odds, the first men get up and over, issuing covering fire while their comrades are hauled up behind them. First man up the cliffs was up in something like 51 seconds. He was a marvelous athlete. He climbed up some 30 feet and was in the bottom of a bomb crater.
had a rope with him, threw the rope out, and all of a sudden he was building up members of his squad. Leaping into trenches, hurling grenades through the slits of bunkers, the Rangers storm the German defenses. But when they reach the big guns, which have remained curiously silent until now, they find something surprising. The huge barrels poking out beneath the camouflage netting? They're made of wood. Fake. The real ones are found soon enough.
Unmanned, hidden away in the hedgerows, one of the Rangers spikes them with explosives. By 9:00 a.m., the battery at Pointe du Hoc has been neutralized. But it remains a valuable vantage point, commanding clear views of both American beaches. When German reinforcements arrive, the Rangers will have to hold it on their own in the face of horrendous counterattacks for two whole days.
Out of the 200-odd rangers who set out to scale the cliffs, nearly half—90 men—didn't make it. But with the stars and stripes flying from the clifftop, it's a symbolically significant victory. Meanwhile, on the western half of Omaha Beach, the 116th Regiment are sustaining heavy losses. Some, though, have made it as far as the sea wall. They huddle there for protection, and the tide is now on the turn.
Thanks to a shallow incline, the sea comes in fast at Omaha. The kill zone on the beach is rapidly shrinking. But by the same token, the one point of refuge, the narrow strip along the base of the seawall, is getting awfully crowded. As the fog of war begins to lift, it's clear that not all of Omaha is carnage. Some sectors have borne fewer casualties than others.
From the far eastern end, Fox Red, comes word that the troops there, drifting beyond their landing point, have already linked up with the Brits at Gold. Meanwhile, operations at both British beaches, Gold and Sword, have been progressing according to plan. Now word comes in that the Americans at Utah are making headway as well. At the Canadian beach, Juneau, losses are high. But by mid-morning, the men there have taken some key objectives as well.
Omaha is not about to be left behind. Along the sweep of sand, more and more men are inching forward. Soaking wet, wounded, disarmed, they just take their chances and run. And more and more are making it. Finding working radios, they're able to summon naval support. Eleven Allied destroyers move closer in. Within 800 yards of the beach, in the shallows, almost scraping their hulls, they can aim their guns where directed.
In land, RAF Typhoons and American P-38s are coming in loads astray of German relief columns. At 10 a.m., three and a half hours since U.S. forces first landed on Omaha, men from the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Battalions of the 16th attempt to regroup, an ad hoc force of nearly 200 soldiers. Colonel George Taylor utters a line that will go down in legend.
He said, there are two kinds of people on this beach. There are those who are dead and those who are going to die. And everybody else that they're smart had better get off it. And this was absolutely true. And all the smart people, they dashed up the beach. And sure, they saw their mates wounded and killed. They saw all these terrible things going on. But they kept moving.
Colonel Cannon, who was my regimental commander, had come along in the smoke and said, OK, guys, get off the beach, get your ass up here, get up to the beach and run. And we did. The big red one is seizing the initiative, taking advantage of a screen of billowing smoke. They crawl towards the bluffs, the steep hills at the back of the beach, on top of which sit the German strong points. For all the planning and rehearsal they've been through,
The most successful troops are those who are able to improvise. D-Day was a highly complex operation. It's been meticulously planned. But of course, what happens when you get underway? Everything goes wrong. It's the old story, you know, no plan survives contact with the enemy. And this is where the intense training that the men had been through really played into their favour.
"The preparation was very good. The preparation was so good that when we landed one mile from where we were supposed to, one of my sergeants said, 'You know where we are, Captain?' And I said, 'Sure. The only place there's a wooden seawall is at Les Moulins.' And it turned out that's where we were, one mile exactly from the Vierville exit." As the soldiers advance, the Germans inflict horrific damage.
But they can't stop the steady stream of bodies moving up the beach. And the casualty rates are falling. 80% in the first wave, 50 in the second. But by the time the third wave arrives, somewhat belatedly, just 20% of men are killed or injured. It might sound callous, but in the end, this is a numbers game. The German generals are like King Canute, trying to turn back an unstoppable human tide.
General Bradley, meanwhile, has been putting more of his own commanders in the field. What he does is he calls upon the services of two brilliant, experienced military men, General Norman Cotter and Colonel Charles Canham. And he sends them ashore and he says, you've got to rally the men. And so these two men, they go ashore absolutely fearless. 51-year-old Norman Cotter
Dutch to his mates, strides forward like a character out of a movie, brandishing his gleaming Colt .45. And they said, "Hey Cap, who's that guy down there on the beach?" And I looked down the beach and here was a little old fat man. He was just at the very far edge of the beach where the dunes began. And I said, "I don't know."
He's either a crazy reporter who doesn't know what he's doing or he's a high-ranking officer who does know what he's doing because he was gesticulating to the troops and waving at them and shaking his fist. He had a cigar in his mouth. And as he moved, the 29th Division troops started up the bluffs finally. And it took him about two minutes and he finally got to my position. I did a snappy hand salute, which he returned.
And I said, "Sir, Captain Ron, 5th Ranger Infantry Battalion, we've just landed on this beach." And he said, "Well, welcome to Omaha Beach." But as he was leaving, he turned to my troops and said, "You men are rangers. I know you won't let me down." Kota snatches a Bangalore torpedo, a bazooka-like missile launcher, and blows a hole through the German barbed wire.
Twirling his shooter like a Western gunslinger, he steams out in front. His bastard brigade, as they will become known, scurry after him. By 11 a.m., Villaville is in U.S. hands. In the end, Omaha was won by a relatively small number of very brave Americans who pushed their way forward, pushed these Bangalore torpedoes to blow up the barbed wire and then inched their way up the bluffs to take out those German positions.
By late morning, more and more men are reaching the tops of the bluffs. The defenders are starting to come out with their hands up. And there's something odd about these prisoners. I saw a ranger coming down with a couple of jerries. I can remember looking at them, and they seem to be either, you know, Japanese or Mongolians or something, but they weren't, you know, blue-eyed, blonde Germans.
A lot of the men who were manning the defences, they were what was known as Ost Battalion. These were not ethnic Germans. These were often ethnic Poles or even people from various areas of Russia, from the Caucasus, from Tajikistan, from Kazakhstan. They were people who were fighting with the Germans, not because they liked Hitler, because they detested Stalin. It's been a day of devastation. There are bodies everywhere, on the sand, in the water.
as well as those poor souls who never got off the landing craft. Frank DeVita's boat has been ferrying the wounded away, going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. They brought my boat up. It looked like Swiss cheese. The machines had decimated it. I was saying to myself, how the hell did anybody live off that boat? By 1pm on D-Day, barrage balloons are flying at Omaha Beach.
Engineers are building makeshift roads. Trucks and equipment are pouring ashore. Inland, the East-West Coast Road is secure. By evening, 30,000 men have landed, establishing a bridgehead that has grown to six miles wide and up to two miles deep. Just part of a broader Allied front, stretching more than 50 miles along the coast. Professor Jeremy Black,
Omaha is in the end a success. You know, there are casualties, which of course is what happens in war, but it is a success. By the end of the day, the German positions have been taken. The beachhead is more shallow than the beachhead for the other beaches, which is a concern. But because there are beaches to east and west that are in Allied hands, there is that, as it were,
room of support for Omaha, the harder battle in many senses lay ahead. It's difficult to confirm exact figures for the Omaha assault. Estimated casualties range from 2,400 to almost 3,700. The carnage inflicted on the first wave is, without doubt, among the worst of the entire war. Those who survived it can scarcely believe their luck.
I've read many, many personal accounts in which men wrote in their diaries or letters afterwards, and they said, what we remember as evening came on D-Day, we were just so amazed that we were still here. We thought we were going to be dead. And I said to myself, what the hell just happened? And how come I'm still alive? How come I'm still alive? I remember looking up to God, and I yelled, God, no matter what it is you want me to do, I'll do it forever or the rest of my life.
In the decades that followed, Omaha Beach has secured its place in American history, thanks in part to the magic of Hollywood. The Battle for Omaha Beach has commanded a disproportionate share of 21st century attention, mostly because of Steven Spielberg and Saving Private Ryan. It was important, but one has to remember it was one of five beaches that were stormed.
In fact, even to speak of Omaha Beach as one thing is to generalize. Along that six mile stretch of coastline, there were areas where the fighting was less intense, and others where it was hell on earth.
There's actually kind of a spectrum with regard to the execution of these assaults where the Americans land. And I think that that narrative tends to get glossed over with the powerful imagery that we see, you know, in the first 20 minutes of Private Ryan, which it's accurate and it certainly depicts what's going on. But it's not the full story of the entire American piece of this invasion.
And in fact, even at Omaha, their casualties were still less than what had been expected. And let's face it, fewer Americans were killed on D-Day than French civilians. In fact, the Canadians, generally downplayed in the D-Day story, lost more men pro-riota on Juneau Beach than the Americans did on Omaha. And casualty figures on both beaches were well below expectations.
One of the problems today is that the fascination with the face of battle approach to war doesn't encourage people to think strategically. Obviously, war is terrifying. Obviously, casualties are horrific at the individual level. People's sons, fathers, brothers, husbands are dying and often being seriously injured. This is really horrible.
But you could say at a strategic level to land a main invasion force in Western Europe at the casualty level of 1944 was actually quite an achievement. Omaha was the toughest moment of D-Day for the Allies. But actually, the price that was paid to get ashore on D-Day, by the standards of the Russian front, it was nothing.
The senior Allied commanders after D-Day, they looked at the losses and thought, "My God, we've established a beachhead in France, a secure beachhead in France, and it's only cost 3,000 or 4,000 dead." They thought it was a sort of miracle, and we should think it was a sort of miracle too. In the next episode, we look at a very personal D-Day story, that of my own father, Joe McGann.
My brother Steve joins the podcast to talk about how D-Day impacted our family, and how one man's experiences of combat that day shed a light on the lives of hundreds of thousands more. That's next time. Special thanks to the American Veterans Center for their partnership in highlighting the real stories from Omaha Beach. Visit their YouTube channel for more interviews and stories.
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