By James W. Dolan
Special to the Reporter
The two ancient warriors standing on the Normandy shore, at 95 years of age among the last survivors of the invasion 75 years ago, were both corporals on that fateful day, one American and the other German. They are walking arm and arm along what was known as Omaha Beach pointing out where they were as the battle progressed.
“My landing craft stopped just about here and we spilled out trying to move up the beach under heavy fire,” the American said. “Men were falling all around me as our sergeant yelled: “Move off the beach or you’ll be dead! Make for the dunes where there is at least some cover.
“I was a 20-year-old medic in the second wave, a veteran of the 1st Division’s 1942 North Africa campaign. We trained in England for months before D-Day, but nothing could have prepared us for the slaughter we encountered on the beach. I did my best to care for the injured but there were so many dead and wounded our efforts seemed futile. We took continuous machine gun fire from positions on a bluff overlooking the beach.”
The German then told his story: “I was in one of those bunkers firing a machine gun at the troops as they off-loaded from the landing craft. They didn’t have a chance. I also was 20, and in the infantry, having served in Russia before being transferred with my unit to France two months before the invasion. Bodies lay all over the beach but the survivors, hunkering down like they were in a storm, kept coming.
“Eventually enough of them reached the base of the bluff and began working their way up the slope. It was then that we began to take casualties. I was wounded when a grenade was thrown into the bunker and shortly thereafter I was taken prisoner. I feared I would be shot, given the numbers killed on the beach. Instead, a young medic put a dressing on my leg wound. Later I was shipped to a POW camp in America. Maybe it was you who gave me first aid. We were on opposite sides but in the same sector.”
The American replied, “I doubt it. But that whole day was such a blur, it could have happened. I later attended to a few wounded prisoners. By then they were only human beings in distress. I went on to participate in the breakout and served until wounded in December 1944 in the Battle of the Bulge. I was recuperating in England when the war ended.
“Many brave men on both sides died that day and here we are, close to the last of the lot. When we die, who will know what we went through on that fateful day? Was it necessary? Was it worth it?”
The German was quick with his answer: “For you it was; you won! My country was devastated, millions died. For what? A mad dictator carried us to perdition. We let it happen and so, in a sense, we’re responsible. It was madness, mass murder as men with no personal grievances were sent to slaughter each other.”
Yet, said the American, “we continue to do it. Not on such a grand scale because weapons now almost make total war unthinkable. But, pocket wars remain dangerous, easily escalating into major conflicts. All wars are sold as defensive for only then can leaders rationalize the cost in blood and treasure.”
The German agreed: “War is the opposite of ‘love thy neighbor.’ Gone are the days of a ‘war to end all wars.’ That will occur only after a war of annihilation when there is nobody and nothing left. Tragically, mankind seems incapable of resolving disputes peacefully. That’s why you and I are here to remember and honor our brothers who died decades ago.”
His onetime battle foe concurred, in part: “There indeed was courage amidst the enormous suffering that occurred on this beach. Good men on both sides were here to kill each other. But there is something fundamentally wrong with tolerating, even honoring, killing on a grand scale while otherwise condemning it as immoral, evil and unlawful.
The two aged veterans wished each other well. “You perhaps have to experience it to realize how futile it is. Today, we’re friends remembering those who died here. How do we honor heroes without glorifying the cause for which they fought?” the American asked. Again, the reply came quickly. “I can, even though we were on the wrong side,” said the German. “My comrades had no choice; some were brainwashed, others were drafted. They either put their faith in an obscene regime or were coerced into serving. Our leaders were at fault and the price of their perfidy was incalculable. I’m sorry my friend,” he added with tears in his eyes. “It’s the best I can do knowing how insignificant it sounds in light of what happened in the war”
As they embraced and departed, the American said: “Before we go, let’s forgive each other for what occurred here so long ago. When we’re gone, who will remember?
Landing crafts hit the beach.
As the troops disembark;
Withering fire from above,
Sews a death shroud,
Stitching a line of casualties.
Some lay motionless on the beach.
Others crawl across the killing ground.
Death is dancing in the tide pools,
As the water turns crimson,
A sacrifice of youth and promise.
What god permits such suffering?
What objective’s worth the cost?
What purpose to be served?
Or, lasting gain to be achieved?
Only the sand will remember.
James W. Dolan is a retired Dorchester District Court judge who now practices law.
