Movement began at once, but within a couple of hours new trouble loomed; the vehicles coming up on the plateau were unable to get inland because the crossroad at St.-Laurent was still in enemy hands. For an hour or so vehicles were jammed bumper to bumper all the way from the beach to the plateau. At 1600 the engineers pushed a branch road south that bypassed the defended crossroad and movement resumed. At 1700, the Vierville exit (D-1) was opened, further relieving the congestion on the beach.⁶

Tanks, trucks, and jeeps made it to the top, but almost no artillery did. By dusk, elements of five artillery battalions had landed, but they had lost twenty-six guns to enemy fire and most of their equipment. Except for one mission fired by the 7th Field Artillery Battalion, American cannon, the queen of the battlefield, played no part in the battle on D-Day. The two antiaircraft battalions scheduled to land never even got ashore; they had to wait for D plus one. Over fifty tanks were lost, either at sea or on the beach.⁷

Planners had scheduled 2,400 tons of supplies to reach Omaha Beach during D-Day, but only 100 tons got ashore. A large proportion of what did arrive was destroyed on the beach; precious little of it got up to the plateau. Troops on top had to fight with what they carried up the bluff on their backs. They ran dangerously low on the three items that were critical to them—ammunition, rations, and cigarettes. Some did not get resupplied until D plus two; the rangers at Pointe-du-Hoc had to wait until June 9 for fresh supplies.

DESPITE THE SHELLING, the congestion, and the obstacles, all through D-Day afternoon landing craft kept coming in, bringing more tanks and infantry. Lt. Dean Rockwell of the Navy, who had brought his LCT flotilla to Omaha Beach at H-Hour and landed the first tanks, made a return trip at 1400. His experience was typical of the skippers trying to get ashore in the follow-up waves.

“We cruised along the beach parallel for hundreds of yards,” he recalled, “looking for an opening through the obstacles. One time we tried to nose our way through but made contact with one of the obstacles, which had a mine that detonated and blew a hole in our landing gear, which meant that we could not let our ramp down.”

Rockwell finally made it to shore, but the damage to his LCT prevented him from discharging his tanks and trailers. “We were able, however, to put the poor soldiers ashore.” They were from a medical detachment. “Let me say,” Rockwell went on, “I have never seen anybody who liked less to follow through on an assignment than they. The beach was literally covered with military personnel backed up, held down by the fire from the enemy. The enemy was bombarding the beach from mortars back over the bluff. The Germans had predetermined targets, and bodies and sand and material would fly when these mortars went off. Anyway, we put the poor soldiers ashore and we felt very, very sorry for them, but we thanked God that we had decided to join the Navy instead of the Army.”⁸

ERNEST HEMINGWAY, a correspondent for Collier’s, came in on the seventh wave, in an LCVP commanded by Lt. (jg) Robert Anderson of Roanoke, Virginia. To Hemingway, the LCVP looked like an iron bathtub. He compared the LCT to a floating freight gondola. The LCIs, according to Hemingway, “were the only amphibious operations craft that look as though they were made to go to sea. They very nearly have the lines of a ship.” The Channel was covered with bathtubs, gondolas, and ships of all kinds, “but very few of them were headed toward shore. They would start toward the beach, then sheer off and circle back.”

As Anderson’s LCVP made its way toward shore, Texas was firing over it at the antitank barrier at one of the exits. “Those of our troops who were not wax-gray with seasickness,” Hemingway wrote, “were watching the Texas with looks of surprise and happiness. Under the steel helmets they looked like pikemen of the Middle Ages to whose aid in battle had suddenly come some strange and unbelievable monster.” To Hemingway, the big guns “sounded as though they were throwing whole railway trains across the sky.”

Anderson had a hard time finding his designated landing area, Fox Red. Hemingway tried to help him navigate. They argued about landmarks. Once Anderson tried to go in, only to receive intense fire. “Get her the hell around and out of here, coxswain!” Anderson shouted. “Get her out of here!” The LCVP pulled back and circled.

Hemingway could see infantry working up the bluff. “Slowly, laboriously, as though they were Atlas carrying the world on their shoulders, men were [climbing]. They were not firing. They were just moving slowly . . . like a tired pack train at the end of the day, going the other way from home.

“Meantime, the destroyers had run in almost to the beach and were blowing every pillbox out of the ground with their five-inch guns. I saw a piece of German about three feet long with an arm on it sail high up into the air in the fountaining of one shell-burst. It reminded me of a scene in Petroushka.”

Anderson finally got to the beach. So did the other twenty-three LCVPs from the Dorothea L. Dix. Six were lost to mined obstacles or enemy fire. Hemingway concluded, “It had been a frontal assault in broad daylight, against a mined beach defended by all the obstacles military ingenuity could devise. The beach had been defended as stubbornly and as intelligently as any troops could defend it. But every boat from the Dix had landed her troops and cargo. No boat was lost through bad seamanship. All that were lost were lost by enemy action. And we had taken the beach.”⁹

CAPT. JAMES ROBERTS, aide to General Gerow, went ashore at 1700 on Easy Red. “As we approached, we were hit with artillery fire, fragments were knocking us around,” he remembered. “Several people were hit, including the skipper of our LCI. He was killed. Simultaneously we hit a sandbar and we were still a hundred or so yards from shore. There was mass confusion and fear and frankly I was in a panic. It is very difficult to dig a hole in a steel deck, and there isn’t much cover on an LCI.”

Roberts got off in chest-deep water and made his way to shore. “The beach was just a complete shambles. It was like an inferno. There were bodies everywhere and some wounded being attended to. As I went by a tank I heard people screaming for morphine. The tank was on fire and they were burning to death. There wasn’t a thing that I could do about that and it was pretty nerve-shaking.”

Shells were bursting all around. Roberts got off the beach as fast as he could. His job was to move up to St.-Laurent to set up a CP. As he climbed the bluff, a sniper opened fire. The bullet went over Roberts’s head. Roberts tried to fire back, but his carbine was filled with sand and seawater and would not work, so he dove into a foxhole and cleaned it. When it was working, the sniper had gone.

Roberts got to the top of the bluff but could find no one from his HQ Company, nor any working radio, so “I didn’t have much to do.” He returned to the crest of the bluff and looked back at the Channel. “It was just fantastic. Vessels of all kinds as far as you could see.”

Soon others from his HQ Company joined him, and Roberts set up V Corps CP north of St.-Laurent. Someone brought along tentage. Roberts set up a pup tent for General Gerow’s first night ashore. When Gerow arrived, around 2100, his concerns were establishing communications and the possibility of an armored counterattack. V Corps had no contact with the British 50th Division on the left nor with the U.S. VII Corps on the right (nor, come to that, with the rangers at Pointe-du-Hoc). If the Germans did counterattack, V Corps was on its own.

Roberts’s concern was his general’s safety. The front line was only a half kilometer forward of corps HQ, “which is not the way the military planners like it to be.”

As darkness fell, Roberts broke out one of his K rations and ate his first food of the day. Then he found a GI blanket and curled up in a ditch for the night. “Around midnight when things seemed to be fairly quiet I remember thinking, Man, what a day this has been. If every day is going to be as bad as this I’ll never survive the war.”¹⁰