When Dillon Landed in Normandy

When U.S., British, and Canadian troops stormed ashore on the various designated beaches of Normandy on 6 June 1944, the 3rd Armored Division was not among them. It was being held back until the landings had secured a beachhead where the armored artillery could establish fire bases from which the tanks and mobile artillery could push inland.

On 20 June, Dillon Summers and the rest of the 391st Armored Field Artillery Battalion moved from its assembly area south of Warminster to the marshalling area in preparation for embarking for the Continent. The morale among the soldiers of the 391st was high. They were a "crack outfit, and everyone was very conscious of that fact." The men were eager to get into the war, do their part in defeating Hitler, get it over with, and go back home.

Dillon was with the Headquarters Battery personnel and Lt. Col. George Garton, commander of the 391st. They arrived at the marshalling area at 2345 hours.

On 21 June, the battalion busied itself dewaterproofing its vehicles. The next day, they re-waterproofed them, a task that took them all day. First Army inspectors congratulated them on a job so quickly done. Such was army life.

Every vehicle in the battalion, both the 105mm howitzers and the tanks of forward observers, was fully loaded with ammunition, had enough gasoline to go 150 miles, and was supplied with rations for three days.

On 22 June--D+16--various units of Task Force Lovelady of the 3rd Armored Division, but not the 391st, slowly moved their vehicles into various landing crafts at anchor. The ships slowly sailed from the harbor and headed in the twilight toward the Continent. Meanwhile, the 391st continued to wait impatiently. Although the men had never seen the enemy or experienced the realities of war, they were eager to get going, get it over with, and get back home.

On 24 June, the battalion left the marshalling area in four stages to board ships waiting at the embarkation point in Weymouth. Lt. Col. Garton and the Headquarters Battery (including Dillon) left the marshalling area at 0855 and arrived at the port at 1015. They boarded LST 400 at 1400.

As the vessels slowly left the harbor in convoy, a .50 caliber machinegun aboard nearby LST 374 accidentally fired, killing PFC T.J. Cooper of Battery C--the battalion's first casualty of the war, and it was from "friendly fire." At 2050 the bulk of the 39`st had left the harbor en route to the Continent.

Shortly after the convoy cleared the harbor, an alert sounded. "All gun stations! Four unidentified aircraft at 10 o'clock, 8,000."

"The crew dropped their blankets and their thoughts. The gun swung around. The men were at their stations, peering into the blackness, waiting." But just as quickly, the alert was canceled, and the all-clear was given: "Aircraft at 10 o'clock identified. Friendly." The soldiers relaxed again.

The next afternoon, the men gathered along the rails of their respective ships and stared toward the eastern horizon. First barrage balloons and then a thin stretch of land appeared. Then Omaha Beach was visible. Everything seemed a mass of confusion on shore, with people and vehicles seemingly running randomly and purposelessly all over the place. But as the men watched, a sense of purpose and order seemed to reveal itself.

At 1823 hours on 25 June, the men were ordered to dewaterproof their vehicles. Again. Although the men had spent hours waterproofing their tanks, halftracks, and other vehicles, that proved unnecessary because they exited the landing crafts into only a few inches of water. They were soon rolling onto Omaha Red Fox Beach in a single file, directed by military policemen, to the predetermined assembly point far up the beach at a town that "had been Isigny. It was [their] first view of what shelling can do to a city."

Along the way, they passed destroyed German vehicles. And they could her the unmistakable "rumble of artillery" and "see the muzzle flashes as night approached." Suddenly, they realized that, although the Allied troops had been ashore for more than two weeks already, they were not very far from the front-line fighting. And beyond the hills above the sandy shore, they could see the tall hedgerows of the bocage into which they would soon be entering.

No doubt, Dillon was a bit nervous, perhaps even anxious, about going into combat. Although he had been trained well and was prepared in that sense, he also felt a degree of fear. Every soldier facing combat for the first time would be afraid. But one had to deal with it, or he would go crazy. And over the course of the next nine months, Dillon would witness many soldiers who lost it under enemy fire. It was called combat fatigue. In World War I, they had called it shell shock. And in later wars, they would call it post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Perhaps Dillon's fellow 3rd Armored member Belton Cooper recognized the problem when he wrote,

"A man marching into combat, knowing full well that his chances of survival are extremely limited, would seem to require an inner strength based on faith in his own ultimate purpose. Although he is terrified, he develops the courage to cope with this terror and is able to function, and through this functioning he is able to survive. I remember reading somewhere, 'Courage is fear that has said its prayers.'"

[The foregoing text is taken from chapter 6 of Dillon's War. Available on Amazon.]