By James W. Dolan

First light reveals 12 ships off the Normandy Coast, one battleship, two destroyers, a minesweeper and three troop transports. The naval guns commence a bombardment of Omaha Beach as a lone fighter plane flies strafing runs against enemy positions.

In the gray dawn, the troops slowly climb down cargo nets into the waiting landing craft. After loading, the landing craft stand off the troopships and go round in circles until all 14 craft are filled. At precisely 6 a.m. they begin their run to the beach, where smoke mixes with the early morning fog.

Two shells explode in the water nearby as the first and only wave hits the beach. When the ramp drops the heavily burdened soldiers slowly make there way across the beach. Enemy fire is sporadic and the casualties are few as the troops advance past the rusting tank traps to the base of the sand dunes and begin to dig in.

A dead soldier lies on the beach, his helmet has fallen off revealing white hair. Upon closer observation, he is old, skin wrinkled and mottled, thick glasses on his sightless eyes. The medic who was attending him also is stooped and old.

They are all long past their prime. Methodically firing their weapons at an unseen enemy dug in above them, their movements are slow and labored. Their rate of fire is ragged as an ancient officer urges then to climb a draw between the dunes and engage the enemy firing down at them from above.

The officer uses his cane to point in the direction he wants them to move. "Get up and move off the beach," he shouts, "before the second wave hits." "There won't be a second wave major," an aged staff sergeant yells, "remember there hasn't been a second wave since 1992."

"Oh yeah, I forgot for a moment," the major replied as a mortar shell burst nearby. "No reinforcements, no air support, no tanks, no artillery; what kind of a war has this become anyway," he asked. "Well at least the enemy is as bad off as we are," said the sergeant, as he moved off to rally his men.

How long have we been doing this now, he thought, as he limped across the all too familiar beach? Year after year we make this assault and it's always the same, less equipment and fewer men. Would it someday be just one lone American soldier facing another old German veteran? Is that how it will end, he thought.

"O.K. boys you know the drill, keep your heads down and start moving up that draw and help your buddies who may be too old to make it on their own. Remember, they're not getting any younger either," the sergeant said.

Slowly they struggled to their feet and began the now familiar climb toward the bluff above the beach toward the machine gun emplacement that had taken a terrible toll of their numbers over the years. "We gotta take out that gun this year, it's the last one with a clear line of fire on the beach," said the sergeant. "Any of you boys still capable of throwing a grenade that far," he asked.

"I can, Sarge," said a wiry old trooper. "Since my hip replacement, I been playing handball three times a week and am in the best shape of the lot. Let me give it a try." "O.K. but keep your head down Mike, I don't want to have to do this again next year without you," the sergeant said.

The gun fell silent after a muffled explosion and with a weak "hurrah" the file of ancient warriors crested the bluff. A feeble enemy corporal surrendered as his comrades stumbled to the rear.

"How many years have we been doing this," asked a 79-year-old private at the end of the day. "This is our 60th," said his exhausted buddy. "Just how long do we have to keep this up," said the private.

"Until we are no more," said his friend. "Our fate is to hit this beach every year until all the veterans of this invasion are dead and gone, when there is no one living who was here on that fateful day and only the sand will truly know what happened here," he added.

"We're almost there," the private replied solemnly as he walked slowly to a waiting landing craft. "Maybe I'll see you next year!"

(James W. Dolan is a retired Dorchester District Court judge who now practices law at Dolan, Connly & Flaherty, 50 Redfield Street, Dorchester; jdolan@dolanconnly.com)