We were on our way to the beach when an artillery salve tried to reach us and exploded into a gigantic water sheath on our right. The vessel was damaged and began to lean slightly to starboard. We had almost come to the ground (on Fox Green) when the commander shouted: "Back all!"... We returned to the sea a few hundred meters before stopping. At that time, we saw one of our boats running on us parallel to the beach, firing with its heavy guns on a target of the coast. This courageous ship passed as close to the coast as his draught allowed him, but I was surprised that he did not tear his keel and slid. Our commander greeted him when he met us. After a brief interview, the other officer advised us: "Do you have your own judgment!" and then the ship continued its mission westward.
We returned to the sea and followed its direction parallel to the beach and out of the range of the artillery, towards the right end of Omaha (to Dog Green).
Now heading for a while, we then turned towards the beach. We landed much more to the right of the target set, somewhere on the Dog sector. As we docked, the artillery sought to reach us, but its shot was too short. The heads fell again behind the armored plates, as we lowered the ramp. In the moment of panic that followed, the captain of the boat shouted, "Get out of the boat! You draw fire upon us 1" Major Humer stood at the foot of the boat and ordered; "Let's go! ", jumping the first in the furnace. The men followed him very closely. Leaving my seat, I followed the men of my team on the ramp, then jumped into the water that was coming to my knees. I advanced to the left, and had a fight with the rest of the group. As I approached the beach, unexpectedly, the water became deeper, forcing me to walk on the tip of my feet by pulling back his head so that I could breathe.
Paralyzed with anguish, I was aware that a shell could cause a fatal fainting, exploding in the water. Suddenly I felt the ground rising under my feet. In front of me, a comrade called The Sack ‐ because of his resemblance to the cartoon character Sad Sack ‐ had disappeared underwater. As he leaned on the ground to jump, I managed to give him an impulse which, combined with that of a wave, allowed him to reach the beach. I was not entirely out of the water, when I saw, on my left an object seeming to emerge from the sand, which grows above our heads, leading in his mad course the formation of a swirling cloud of sand. When the whirlwind calmed down and the cloud fell, I realized that it was an artillery shell of 88. We could be grateful that he had behaved like a ball.
The next shell behaved like a shell but I now knew its characteristic noise and sought to protect myself by throwing myself on the sand. After the explosion, I heard someone on my right calling a nurse. Turning back, I saw that Sergeant Billy Heehan had been hit, and that a rescuer was already leaning on him. When I pulled back to the line of the dunes that offered protection, I saw on the sand a case containing a mine detector, labeled The Sacks. I seized him by the handle and took him with the idea that he would certainly serve me later.
I managed to hide behind the dunes. My wet clothes and the additional mine detector were a much larger load than originally planned. I took a cure by throwing away the detector case to keep only the contents of it. I put it together, put the batteries in my jacket pocket and put the control box in shoulder straps. When I turned around before approaching the long route towards the F-1 valley, I saw a group of prisoners squatting against each other behind a boat carcass. These were the first and last enemy soldiers I saw that day. Some of them had bandages and a hagard face.
I ran on the beach towards the east but had not yet arrived far, when I was forced to lie flat belly due to the shells. In doing so, I realized that I had to review my equipment. It was impossible to hold my mine detector in one hand, the rifle clans the other and thus succeed in finding my way through the firing range. So I put my rifle in a shoulder strap like a cossack, the gun headed down and placed the detector on the backpack. I also took the time to remove the gas mask that was on my chest to attach it to my left hip. This would make it easier for me to flatten myself on the ground: an asset that any soldier caught under enemy fire is looking for.
The beach was cluttered with destroyed, burning and smoking equipment. Hundreds of bodies were lying all over the floor, all wearing the same uniform as me. Between the detonations of the shells, I jumped from one carcass to another with caution, careful not to find myself near a target. I had become experienced in combat. According to the sound, I could recognize the approximate distance the shell was going to explode, and as a result, I didn't care or beat all the speed records to jump into the rubble. Once my estimate was a little correct: indeed, following an explosion behind me, a piece of steel like half my fist, whistling and screaming, fell into the wet sand barely a step in front of me. Here and there, I was also under less dense fire of individual weapons – a benign risk compared to artillery fire.
At the beginning of my race, I could recognize Major Humer's familiar silhouette, thanks to his cigar butt on the corner of his lips. He took us to the beach. After the first shooting salve, as the temptation to bury us became very strong and almost irresistible, he encouraged us not to stay there. On his advice, I learned how to keep under bombardment, while increasing my chances of survival. But I had lost sight of her and it seemed to me that I was alone, separated from my unit. The only living soldiers I saw were wounded or wandering without a leader, looking for the first providential shelter. I assumed that the rest of the company, although it was out of my field of vision, should, like me, wander on the beach between the carcasses of material.
In search of my company, I reached the boundary between Dog and Easy sectors. Indeed, I saw a soldier who, although dead, was still serving his country, holding the handle of the sign. In the Easy sector, the fire seemed to intensify as I advanced. It was a very difficult journey: every time I fell to the ground, the rifle hit the back of my head, pushing away the helmet that was driving in front of me on the sand; then I rushed feverishly on all fours to catch him. When I jumped again, it was the control box hanging in front of me and obstructing my attempt to get me started before I arrived at the next shell. The number of times, when I threw myself on the sand and then rose up, corresponds exactly to the number I signed up and prayed to stay alive at the next leap. Asking me if in the next moment, I wasn't going to become invisible to the rest of the world or if I wasn't suddenly going to feel a blow that was going to leave me on the sand, seriously injured.