[img]http://www.ddaymuseum.org/graphics/education/orderoftheday.jpg[/img]

Let us not forget what our soldiers were doing on this morning, just a few years ago...

[USA]

[img]http://search.eb.com/normandy/art/onavsup001p1.jpg[/img]

[img]http://search.eb.com/normandy/art/onasuex001p1.jpg[/img]

[usa]

a prayer of thanks,,

[USA]

Once again the USA is rising up to face evil in the world. If you dont learn from the past your are bound to repeat it.

[usa]

Thanks to all those who lost loved ones and RIP to those who died on this day many years ago.

Normandy in Europe, Saipan in the Pacific, and numerous battles to go.  The begining of the end for the Axis.

Bilster

GOD Bless America!!

Just about now on 6 June...1st Lt Richard Winters and about twelve of his "Band of Brothers" were assaulting a German arty pos at Brecourt Manor in Normandy.  The four 105mm guns were firing on Utah Beach and were defended by about 100 infanty including at least 2 MG-42s.  In one of the most daring and well executed light infantry assaults ever recorded, these brave paratroopers of Easy Company, 506 Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, took the German pos, spiked the guns and killed or wounded over 40 Germans.

For his actions, Lt Winters was nominated for the Medal of Honor by Colonel Robert Sink.  Since the Screaming Eagles had already used up their alloted number of CMHs for D-Day (Mandated by SHAEF to be just two per division!), Winters received the Distinguished Service Medal instead.

salute [USA]

God Bless those brave men.  God Bless America.

[USA]

Salute the proud men who served and died to ensure freedom.

we should send some buffs out over the Cemetaries and drop flowers......
...and I'll be damned if the lav's on board developed a real bad leak over paris...


[}:D]

Their sacrafice has not been forgotten.

[usa]

I was at the Barber shop the other day. Not a chick salon or Supercuts, the barber shop. Where you can still talk about girls and killing animals.

Anyway, I got talking with this older gentlemen about Iraq, military service, etc...

I ask him when he was in.
1945, he says.
He says he served on a B-17.
Navigator? Bombadier? Radio? I ask..
Pilot, he says.
36 combat missions over Germany.
He said the REAL warriors were the one's who flew the year prior, when there was more resistance.

Very humble, very softspoken. Didn't really think it was anything special that he did. I shook his hand and thanked him for his service. He seemed real surprised, like he didn't get that very much.

A true warrior and a gentleman.

Lesson: You never know the true story behind the mask of old age unless you ask. These guys were there, were heroes and got it done. Find one and thank one.

-Z

Over the years, I would visit all the bookshops in the LA area. I used to see this older fellow all the time. I felt sorry for him... it was clear that he had limited funds, and even more importantly, was becoming ill with a wasting sickness(cancer). I started to speak with him... out of pity. Well, the joke was on me. It turns out that Gene was a Marine during WWII, did the island hopping tour; and had a silver star!  So, next time you see that cranky
old fa**, say hello or invite him to a beer.These men are leaving. Times a wastin!

You wouldn't know by talking to my Grandpa.  He was a B17 pilot over there.  He woudn't ever talk to us about it because we couln't possibly know what it was like.

He refused to watch war movies for the same reason.  12 o'clock high, Memphis Belle, you name it.  

We saw his pilot's logs after he died.  Terse entries, like a Crash on takeoff here, a crash on landing...  No wonder he was different.  

[USA]


Thanks guys

great post

...and those liberated are grateful to this very day....

They were seasick, scared, and untested....

Their landing craft hit mines or were hit by shells. The survivors jumped into water so deep that for some it was their last act. The others dropped their weapons and packs to avoid drowning, and swam ashore, many towing injured comrades. Other landing craft passed them by or ran them over, having orders to get to the beach as quickly as possible.

The boats that managed to make it ashore dropped their ramps and let in a hurricane of angry copper bees that tore into the huddled troops. They jumped into water that was chest-deep,  hundreds of yards from the seeming safety of the seawall. They crawled ashore as the water around them jumped like a thing alive from bullet impacts.

They reached shore and hid behind anything higher than a grain of sand and stronger than a wet sheet of paper. They had to to prevent from being annihilated by the murderous crossfire from positions that had gone untouched by the preparatory bombardments. For hours, they hunkered down and watched their leaders die, their men die, their friends die...

Without their weapons and equipment, without the tanks that never arrived, they did all they could: they kept their heads DOWN and prayed. The word "GOD" was probably the most-spoken name that morning. They cried for mercy, they cried for their mothers, they cried for the dead.

They looked to the sea for salvation, yet none came. Their fellow forces in the Channel were waiting to see the results of the first waves, and seeing a debacle in the making, were actually considering abandoning the beach altogether.

The troops on the beach saw that the only way out was forward. The only way to end it all was to die or to win. One by one, then in twos, then in threes and more, they began to crawl across the sands, obstacle to obstacle, body to body, picking up anything with which they could fight back against the devils on the cliffs.

They (an uncle of mine among them) charged across the sands, watching those to their left and right cut down as they ran. Nothing mattered but getting to the fucking shingle. Move, MOVE!

They couldn't stop to help without being killed themselves. The only way to help their wounded was to get up in the enemy's face and kill HIM before he could kill more of THEM.

They crossed the sands, climbed the bluffs, and pillbox by pillbox, bunker by bunker, man by man, they clawed their way along Hitler's vaunted Atlantic Wall, killing the "Master Race" one by one and by the bushel. A battle that began with naval artillery barrages and massive air strikes became a battle of rifles, grenades, knives, fists, and even rocks.

Not one surrendered. Not one quit. Not one ran away.

The sand ran red with their blood. The air was thick with the screams of the wounded, provided you were close enough to hear it over the howl if incoming shells, mortars, and machine-gun bullets. Orders were given with hand signals through the noise and smoke. Orders given by privates and corporals. Everyone else was dead...

The hours passed. The fighting continued. The death continued.

...and in the end, THEY won. The seasick, the scared, the untested, had conquered the beaches and defeated the crack troops arrayed against them. They looked down from the cliffs and saw their comrades arriving on the beach, meeting far less resistance than they had because of their efforts.

Fast-forward 40 years.....

I stand on those cliffs. I see their height, and the unbelievable killing field their view turns the now-tranquil beach below. I walk among the rows of snow-white crosses and Stars of David reading the names. I, who was not born until 28 years after that terrible day, recognize the horrors these men faced so that I can stand here and enjoy the view.

Fast-forward another 20 years...

I will someday take my daughters there, both so that I can make a proper tribute to the fallen and so they can hopefully gain an appreciation of the sacrifices made for them by people they will never know.

So to all those who are still alive, yet who can remember that terrible day first-hand, I offer you my gratitude. I have no words to express it properly. The only words I can compile are those that describe what YOU did. What words of thanks can I possibly write that make up for what YOU did for me and mine, just by climbing down that cargo net that morning?

[b]None.[/b]

As such, please accept this poor attempt: Thank you for my freedom. An eternally grateful American remembers your sacrifice, and proudly carries that debt forward. My children will carry it after I do, and I will not permit them to forget, or minimize, what you did for us, and I will ensure that they teach THEIR children....

God bless all of you, living and dead, who were there that day...

[usa]

This weekend I get the chance to visit some of the cemeteries and monuments in Saint Mere Eglise, France along with the opportunity to jump out of a C-130 at Ste. Mere.  I hope some of those vets are their for me to thank.  Today- Jun 6 is my 20th year in the Army.

De Oppresso Liber

You can go to this website and listen to President Franklin D. Roosevelt's speech that he gave to the country later that evening on June 6, 1944. It's an excellent recording..very clear and concise.

www.fdrlibrary.marist.edu/psfa/tmirhj67.html

Oh, if you're offended by the mentioning of God and the calling for prayer...you might not care to listen.

Miz LWilde & I are raising two of our grandkids...girl six and boy four.  I was a history major in college and specialized in military history.  I'm also a retired Swabbie who served for 28 years from '64 to '92.

My dad was a B-24 gunner in the 8th AF during WW II.  He was awarded the DFC for heroism in 1944 for shooting down a twin engined Me-410 that was tring to shoot down his plane.  They were actually preparing to land in East Anglia at Horsham St. Faith when the Germans attacked.  Pops was an E-6 and the armor gunner (My kind of job!), at the right waist position.  He told me that he was so scared when he saw the German shooting at them and the enemy's incendiary cannon shells passing just under him...that he forgot all about his gunnery training (short bursts) and he just held the triggers down on his Ma Deuce.  Apparently, the German pilot flew smack into his bullets, killing him.  The plane passed under Pop's bomber, rolled over and crashed.  (They were only a few hundred feet up.).  Pops went over to see the German plane the next day.  He didn't like talking about the dead German crew.  Pops has been gone now for three years.  He was a mean old coot...but he was a hero.

We tell our little ones all about him and all the real heros of WW II.  The boy has seen the good WW II flics like SPR and Band of Bros.  I keep reminding him when he grows up, he'll be joining the service and trying out for Rangers, Marine Recon or SEALS.  My missus hates that.

We try to strentgthen the bonds between the young and old, and to teach our grandson respect for the old vets as much as possible.  Last year, we were at Quantico for medical treatment.  When leaving, we passed this grizzled old Jarhead in a wheelchair waiting patiently for medical care.  The old boy had a close brush cut...but all white now, his burley old arms were covered in ancient, faded USMC tatoos and both of his legs were missing at mid-thigh.

As we passed, I took Buddy's left hand, turned him around and told him, "Salute, Buddy!".  Bless his heart, he did it perfectly for a three year old.  The Old Marine promptly and correctly returned Buddy's salute.  I was so proud of both of them.

My father and 4 uncles served, there was no question when they enlisted. We must never forget or stop telling why it was important.

Mosst of all we must never forget those who have served since then.... what is the price of Freedom...thank a vetran!

E.W.G.  
To the best friend a Grandson could have.  You are not forgotten.

salute [USA]

Lest we forget.  

I'm going to the D-Day museum in New Orleans on June the 12th.  It is part of my 21st b-day present.  I was wanting to go today but the folks are outta town and I want em to go with me.

Imagine the protests, outcry and placating that would occur if we tried to do that today.

I wonder if France would still object.