The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1944-08-24

Jul KICKOFF lnfantry nao Deen
pulled back a few hundred
yards this side of the road. Ev-
eryone in the area had been
given the ~strictest orders to be
in foxholes, for high-level bomb
ers can, and do quite e~xcusably,
make mistakes.
We were still in country so level
and with hedgerows so tall there
simply was no high spot-either hill
or building-from where you could
get a grandstand view Of the bomb
ing as we used to in Sicily and
Italy. So place was as good as
another unless you went right up and
sat IN the bomb line.
Having been caught too close to
these things before. I compromised
and picked a farmyard about 800
yards back Of the kickoff line.
And before the next two hours
had passed I would have given every
penny. every desire. every hope I've
ever had to have been just another
SOU yards further back.
Our frontlines were marked by
long strips of colored cloth laid on
the ground, and with colored smoke
to guide our airmen during the mass
bombing that preceded our break
out from the German ring that held
us to the Normandy beachhead.
Dive bombers hit it just right.
We stood in the barnyard of a
French farm and watched them bar
rel nearly straight down out Of the
sky. They were bombing about halt
a mile ahead Of where we stood.
They came in groups, diving from
every direction, perfectly timed, one
right after another. Everywhere you
looked separate groups Of planes
were on the way down, or on the
way back up, or slanting over for a
dive, or circling, circling, circling
Owe our heads, waiting for their
turn.
The air was full Of sharp and dis
tinct sounds Of cracking bombs and
the heavy rips Of the planes ma
chine guns and the splitting screams
of diving wings. It was all fast and
furious. but yet distinct, as in a
musical show in which you could
distinguish throaty tunes and words.
And then a new sound gradually
droned into our ears, a sound deep
and all encompassing with no notes
in it-just a gigantic faraway surge
Of doom-like sound. 1t was the
heavies. They came from directly
behind us. At first they were the
merest dots in the sky. You could
see clots Of them against the far
heavens, too tiny to count indi.
vidually. They came on with a ter
rible slowness.
They came In flights of IL,
three flights to q group and in
groups stretched out across the
sky. They came In families Of
about 70 planes each.
Maybe these gigantic waves
were two miles apart, maybe
they we're 10 miles, l don't know.
But l do know they came in .
constant procession and
thought 1t would never end.
What the Germans must have
thought is beyond comprehen-
sion.
Their march across the sky was
slow and studied. I've never known
a storm, or a machine, or any
resolve Of man that had about it the
aura of such a ghastly relentless.
ness. You had the feeling that even
had God appeared "beseechingly be.
fore them in the sky with palms out
ward to persuade them back they
would not have had within them the
power to turn from their irresistible
course.
l stood with a little group of men.
ranging from colonies to privates,
back Of the stone farmhouse. Slit
trenches were all around the edges
of the farmyard and a dugout with
a tin roof was nearby. But we were
SO fascinated by the spectacle over
head that it never occurred to US
that we might need the foxholes.
The first huge flight passed di.
rectly over u farmyard and others
followed. We spread our feet and
leaned far back trying to look
straight up, until our steel he'll
NETS fell off. We'd cup our fingers
around our eyes like field glasses for
a clearer view.