MEMORIES OF LEO H. SCHEER about the invasion of France, June 6, 1944 World War II, Omaha Beach
(page 2—continued)
As it began to get along towards evening, we checked on the wounded occasionally; we still hoped to evacuate them, but began to realize it would not happen and it was a sad and bitter feeling when we realized they were going to have to spend the night on the beach. Also, about this same time of evening, we saw a row of about 8 or 10 Navy Destroyers coming in towards the beach. It was some sight to see as they were going very fast and the rooster tails behind them were very high. They went west past the beach and then made a big sweeping curve and came back towards us closer to the beach. We wondered what was happening until they opened fire and began shelling our area of the beach. At the same time the Germans speeded up their shelling and we were under artillery fire from two directions. All we could do was to lie on the ground and try to be small. This went on until the Destroyers moved back out to sea. One of our signalmen by the name of Thomas got the Navy Cross later for trying to signal them that they were hitting the wrong places on the beach. There was a large pill box at the extreme west end of the beach which I think they were trying to hit.
After this was over and things calmed down, we stopped to think about food for the first time all day. We got some K-rations from somewhere. I’ll always remember when I opened the food and started to eat, I noticed my hands, fingernails, and jacket cuffs were caked with dried blood.
Just before dark we checked on the wounded around our area and told them as best we could that they would have to spend the night on the beach. One guy in particular gave me hell and other medics also. I had enough of that and told him there was a hell of a lot of men who would never leave the beach. Before it got too dark, my buddy and I dug out trenches in the front yard of a house to spend the night in. Naturally, I got completely soaked with sea water coming in; I had dried off some during the day, but it was a cold clammy job trying to get to sleep in those clothes.
I was awakened the next morning when a shell landed and the explosion shook the sand edge off of my trench and buried my face. As I became more alert I had the goofy feeling a cat was lying on my face. I brushed myself off as best I could and was very glad it was morning.
The battle inland was going hot and heavy. From the sound, artillery was still reaching the beach. There still were no landing craft coming in, so we took care of what we had. We found some that was missed the first day and some wounded began to come to the beach from up the hill. I remember getting wire cutters and cutting barbed wire along the road so we could place the wounded along the wall for more protection. As I was cutting wire next to a post, I saw a small wire going down into the ground. I pulled the grass aside and was looking at a mine about one foot in diameter. I don’t know whether it was a pull or release wire to set it off, but it was a close shave. I marked the mine and warned everyone around about
it.
Sometime the second morning, a soldier came by and told me there were three wounded lying just inside a hole in the wall. They were just a little way down the road. I went to the place and carefully crawled into the place. Two of the men were dead, but the third was alive and had been hit in the hip and lower leg. It looked as if the three had been hit with machine gun fire when they went through the hole. I treated his wounds and made him as comfortable as I could. He told me they were hit D-Day morning in the first assault, so he had been lying there without help more than 24 hours. I told him that he would have to remain there as we had no stretchers and I was afraid to move him without one. I hated to leave him there isolated and alone, but it was the best I could do—for now.
Another incident I remember of the second morning was an Army Ranger came limping down the road. He stopped and sat down on the ground beside me, and asked if I could help him. I asked him what was wrong and he pointed to his foot. He had a bullet hole in one side and out the other just between the toes and the ankle. I said sure; let’s get your shoe off and I’ll bandage it. He said no—to hell with that. If we took his shoe off, he wouldn’t be able to walk. So he got up and limped away down the road. One really tough guy!
Another soldier came to me and asked for something for a headache. I asked why and he took off his helmet and showed me where a bullet had pierced it; then the slug spun around inside the helmet and dropped out. He didn’t have a scratch that I could see, but he sure had a sore head and neck.
Sometime later the second morning, a British LCM (Landing Craft Mechanized) came up to the beach and unloaded some vehicles. I went aboard and asked them to stay awhile so we could get some wounded aboard. They did not say yes or no. As we were getting ready to help some wounded aboard, a few shells landed. He pulled up his ramp and backed off. I ran out cussing the bastard out. I picked up some rocks and threw at them, and hoped a German shell would get them, but they didn’t.
The Navy was still interested in the pill box on the west end of the beach. In the afternoon a battleship moved in close to where we could see it pretty good and started shelling the pill box. We were only 2 or 3 city blocks from where the pill box was and it was some sight to see the three 14” guns fire, see the clouds of brown smoke, hear the rounds coming in at the peak of the explosions when the shells landed. The concussion was terrific and the ground shook when the shells hit. Their aim was pretty good because when we looked over the pill box later, they had made some direct hits. I read later in “Stars and Stripes” that it was the Battleship Texas.
Another incident I recall on the second day was when another medic, named Tony Campanelli, and I were kneeling down side by side treating the wounded beside our now beloved wall, when a shell exploded about 2 or 3 hundred yards down the road. We hunched down a bit and got stung with flying debris but thought everything was alright. Then Tony said his butt felt funny. He reached back to feel and came away with blood on his hand. He had been nicked in the fanny. It did not penetrate—just took out a little chunk. He got the Purple Heart, but took a lot of razzing about having the biggest butt on the beach and they kidded him that he now had an air hole in his pants that was needed.
It seemed the battle inland heated up, judging by the sound, during the afternoon of the second day. The rounds coming into the beach speeded up and then the rumor went around that the Germans were making a push back at us and that we might have to evacuate. Some joke; we could not even evacuate our wounded. Some of us began to practice our name, rank, and serial number and wondered what prison camp was like.
Also around this time a very strange sound approached the beach and ended in an explosion. We wondered what the Germans were throwing at us now. I learned later it was an artillery shell that somehow got going end over end instead of twirling. It really was strange to us and shook us up for awhile.
As evening approached the second day, I was getting used to warfare. I guess I and a lot of other men felt that if we survived this far, our numbers were not up, so we walked around pretty freely and would only kneel down or duck a little when we heard a round coming in. It seemed we could almost judge by the sound where the shell would land. The mortar and small arms fire was over by this time.
It was a very unhappy task to go around to the wounded and tell them they would have to spend another night on the beach. The guy who gave me hell the first night really gave it to me the second night. I just took the verbal abuse from him this time. I think ‘chewing me out’ made him feel better. The guy isolated and alone with two dead buddies took the news alright. He was a brave man.
The shelling on the beach began to slack off, up inland was a constant roar of artillery fire. Sleeping the second night in an open trench was a little better, because my clothes were dry.
On the third day, it must have been decided that we were going to hold the beach, because landing craft began coming in with troops and vehicles. We were finally able to get our wounded off into landing craft, but we had some harrowing times doing it. I remember one incident in particular, four of us were carrying a man on a stretcher when a truck came off a landing craft about 20 ft. from us and either an artillery round or a mortar landed right on the hood and exploded. Neither the truck driver, the man riding with him, or any of us got a scratch. We theorized later that the hood depressed in such a way that all of the shrapnel went straight up. Even the windshield did not break. The truck driver just sat on the ground a long time, just shaking his head. But he was alright.
As the third day wore on, more and more troops came in and those of us on the beach began to feel better about our situation. It was something to see the look of fear and terror on some of the new men’s faces when they landed and saw for the first time what they were getting into. An explosion somewhere or firing would send hundreds of them to the ground, and it was sad to think what they would yet experience.
The first German prisoners were brought down to the beach during the afternoon and it turned out they were Mongolians from somewhere in Russia. I guess when they were captured by the Germans they went over to their side. It was a little shock when I saw real German prisoners and realized that they looked just like most of us; and they were kids just like most of us. I remember one incident when a German officer complained that he and his men would get wet wading out to a landing craft. One of our officers told him, in no uncertain terms, that if we got our asses wet getting into France, we did not care how wet they got leaving! The war was over for them.
(Continued next page)