THE LANDING
The landing was supposed to be easy -- so easy that John Talton was singing.
By Greg Edwards & Mark Morrison
The Roanoke Times
June 4, 1994
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AP Photo
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He rode with a dozen other soldiers, all demolition specialists, on a landing boat that was a flimsy, plodding target for enemy fire. The boat had an open top, plywood sides and a steel ramp that dropped down so the soldiers could run off when they beached. John Talton rode with his buddy, Leo Dombroski.
They sang over the roar of the boat's engine as it motored steadily toward the coast. The song was from the hit parade, "No Letter Today," a popular tune among the troops who had been away from home for years, preparing for war and for this day.
"I have waited so long."
"I've waited each day, dear."
"Since I've been gone."
It was dark, except for the far-away flashes from the battleship Texas as it lobbed shells at the coastline. In the distance, bombers droned to destinations inland, invisible in the darkness and heavy-hanging clouds.
The sea tossed the small boat around without mercy, Some soldiers vomited from seasickness. Others bailed water with their helmets as the rough sea lapped over the boat's plywood sides. Everybody and everything was thoroughly and miserably soaked.
Ahead waited the beaches of occupied France -- and the Nazi menace.
Ugly, evil-looking obstacles lined the beaches, looming like oversized toy jacks lodged deep into the French sand. Many were rigged with explosives or mines, designed to prevent boats, tanks and other equipment from making easy landings.
The Germans had labored at getting them in place for more than a year -- all in preparation for this day.
As demolition specialists, Talton's unit had been given the task of blowing a 50-yard path through these obstacles so that incoming soldiers and their equipment could roll easily onto the beach, into France and hasten the end of World War II.
The invasion force rode in thousands of boats following minutes behind. Talton's team landed on a section of the coast code-named Omaha Beach. Similar demolition teams landed at dozens of other spots along the shore in a region of Northern France known as Normandy.
It was supposed to be easy.
But in the dim light of early dawn, Talton's boat bottomed out on a sandbar and the steel ramp dropped into the rushing surf and a spray of gunfire. "We got hit three times, just like that. Boom, boom, boom."
Bullets dropped the boat's two officers, who stood on each side of Talton. "It was just like slow motion. I can see today." One of the officers was hit in the head and killed. He slid down and toppled forward. The other was wounded in the back.
More men fell. There was confusion. Nobody knew exactly where the gunfire was coming from, but the gunner behind the boat's mounted machine gun aimed blindly into the dawn and fired anyway.
Finally, someone yelled.
"Grab what you can and get the hell out of here."
The scene was a preview of the slaughter to come.
Talton and thousands of other soldiers -- many from Southwest Virginia -- didn't know that a crack German infantry division had moved onto Omaha Beach to bolster the Nazi defenses there.
The date was June 6, 1944 -- a turning point in history.
D-Day.
The day Allied Forces invaded German-occupied Europe. A day long anticipated by the world. A day prayed for and prayed about. And, for men such as John Talton of Radford who landed on the beaches of Normandy, a day that, 50 years later, remains vivid, a day that lives on in nightmares.
For most, it was their first time in battle.
They were gung-ho, but they shared an unspoken thought.
"Will I make it?" more
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