"The sea was so rough and the currents and wind so strong that the six LCAs carrying Company D became separated as we approached Omaha Beach. We had followed at an interval behind Companies A and B, respectively, but smoke from the bombardment and the foggy mist obscured our view of the preceding companies and the coast.
Our own boat became even further separated from the rest as we got closer, and the coxswain fought to miss obstacles amid the waves and tidal currents of the shoreline. At this point in my war, I myself was not the least bit worried about what the Germans would do to us.
About 150 yards from shore—despite the warning from someone behind me to “Keep your head down!”—I cautiously peeped up. I could see that the craft about twenty-five yards to our right and a couple of hundred yards ahead were targeted by small arms. Fiery tracer bullets skipped and bounced off the ramp and sides as they zeroed in before the ramps fell. I said to anyone close enough to hear above the bedlam: “Men, we’re going to catch hell. Be ready!”
Then it began to happen. Enemy artillery and mortar shells sent great plumes of water spouting skyward as they exploded in the water. Near misses rained us with seawater. I suddenly became very worried about what Jerry could do to us.
How in the hell did those sonsof*****es survive what we thought was a carpet-bombing and shelling of the beach? At Slapton Sands we trained with live explosions, but these were far more frightening. This time they were shooting to kill every one of us.
We expected A and B Companies to have the beach secured by the time we landed. In reality, no one had set foot where we touched down. Smoke and fog had prevented our coxswain from guiding on the Vierville church steeple. This, plus strong tidal currents had diverted us about 200 yards to the east of our intended landing. Mortar and artillery shells exploded on the land and in the water as we approached. The telltale screech just before impact and explosion made the incoming artillery even more terrifying. Even worse, they seemed to land in clusters.
The craft slowed as we scraped a submerged sandbar, which kept us from a dry landing. Everyone wanted to get the hell off that rocking boat, but the coxswain had trouble dropping the steel ramp. When it finally slammed and splashed down, the front of the boat began to buck like a wild stallion, rising six or seven feet, turning slightly sideways, and then slamming down again. Over and over, it went: rise-turn-slam! rise-turn-slam! The boat and the ramp became enemies in and of themselves.
The first man to exit went off about mid-ramp. The craft surged forward and crushed the poor fellow to death. Everyone who followed went off at each side or the rear. I was about fifth from the front on the left; Platoon Sergeant Willard Norfleet led the right side. Bullets and shrapnel notwithstanding, it was especially hard and dangerous to exit the front of that boat. Many of us simply had to wait our turn. "
It only got worse from there.
Omaha Beach and Beyond : American Veterans Center
If there are any D-Day Vets on this board, I can't thank you enough.
Jim