Dog Company

After heavy shelling throughout the day and night of June 7, the big guns on the Texas eventually ceased firing. Miraculously, Dog Company managed to survive yet another night of deadly friendly fire and sustained enemy encroachment. On the morning of June 8, Kerchner and Lomell emerged from their foxholes where they had been holed up for the past two days. As Kerchner moved through the hedgerow, he asked, “Hey, is everybody alright?”

Twelve of his men were alive. Two men were wounded. Several men were dead, including Pat McCrone’s best friend and fellow prankster, Larry Johnson. Still holding his M1, Johnson lay with his face pressed into the soft earth of his fighting hole. Devastated by his death, Staff Sergeant McCrone silently stood next to the fallen Ranger, reflecting on the many good times they had together at Camp Forrest. As he gazed down on Johnson lying motionless on the ground, something began to change inside of him.

Kerchner surveyed the devastation. The debris of intense battle surrounded their foxholes. Equipment and feces lay strewn about the hedgerow. Dog had not eaten for two days. To his surprise, Kerchner came upon Sergeant Mike Branley, who was hidden away in a hedgerow nearby, with his shoulder bandaged. Separated from the rest of Dog Company, Branley was so ecstatic to see the platoon leader that he “almost kissed Kerchner.”

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

Suddenly, Lomell heard the sounds of steel tank treads crawling across the Norman coastal blacktop road that they had defended for two days. All of Dog Company, including Kuhn and Fate, who shared a foxhole, pointed their weapons toward the ominous oncoming sounds. Lomell thought the end was near: “We’re about to be overrun by the Germans!”

The sound of clanking tank treads and marching boots drew closer to the men as they readied for battle. Joy replaced their fear when they realized that the tanks and men were American. Recalling the glorious moment, Kerchner said, “Right up behind the lead scouts was Colonel Canham, who was the commander of the 116th Infantry. . . . [He] came up this road with one hand bandaged up and had a weapon in the other hand. . . . We were so glad to see him. Colonel Canham was all soldier, and all he wanted to know was ‘Where are the Germans?’ All I wanted to know was ‘Where are the Americans?’”

For two and a half days, Kerchner, Lomell, and what was left of Dog Company had tenaciously manned their roadblock, effectively cutting German communication and defending the road between Omaha Beach and Utah Beach.

The relief of Pointe du Hoc began in the early morning hours of June 8, when the five-inch guns of the USS Ellison opened up on German positions. D and E Company of the 5th Ranger Battalion took the high ground on the western side of the Norman village of Grandcamp. Meanwhile, the rest of Force C, men from the 116th Infantry, and tanks from A Company of the 743rd Tank Battalion moved down toward Pointe du Hoc.

Passing through Kerchner’s position, the tanks approached Rudder’s perimeter at about 11 A.M. The mines around Pointe du Hoc once again took their toll, destroying several tanks. Even worse, the tank crews were confused when they encountered the Rangers on the Pointe who were using confiscated German weapons. The tanks began firing on the Rangers next to Rudder’s command post, tragically killing several.

Captain John Raaen ¹⁸, CO of Headquarters’ Company, 5^th Ranger Battalion, and part of the relief force, remembers the desperate measures taken to halt the fratricide: “A lieutenant of the 2^nd Rangers ran out of cover, jumped up on one of the tanks, beat on the turret until he got the attention of the crew, put a pistol to the head of the commander who opened the turret, and with that the attack of the 743^rd stopped in its tracks.”

In the chaos of friendly fire, the Rangers set off a recognition flare and even attempted to unfurl the American flag. As Lieutenant Vermeer recalls, “Again Colonel Rudder displayed his great courage and leadership as he helped the men in his command post hold up an American flag as high as they could, so the troops advancing would know that we were Americans and not Germans in the area. . . . I felt the pride of being a Ranger and of our accomplishments during the past few days.”

At the same time, the Texas heard the tanks firing and radioed Rudder. “Are you being fired on?” Rudder replied, “Yes.”

“Do you want me to fire on them?”

“No.”

“Are you being hit by friendly fire?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, the firing ceased. “And then finally, later on the eighth, I went out of the aid station over the field. The firing had died down, and coming across towards us were the rest of the battalion,” Frank South said of the wonderful moment. “Near the front of them, I recognized the tall figure and the peculiar loping gait of my closest friend, Bill [“Willy”] Clark, also a medic and also, at this time, not wearing a brassard but carrying an M1. It was a great sight, and relief. But then we started counting heads. Of the approximately two-hundred twenty-five men who had landed on the Pointe, there were fewer than ninety-five who could still bear arms.”