Utah Beach landing is recalled

STILLWATER — Each year, J.Q. Lynd sends greetings to the few old buddies he has left. But it's not for Christmas or birthdays. It's because of that day long ago when their lives didn't end.

Sixty three years ago on this day, seeing another sunrise was a shaky prospect for 22-year-old Julian Quentin Lynd and the other men standing with him like snacks in a vending machine.

The 40 young men under Lt. Lynd's command, each loaded with explosives "like a walking bomb,” were headed to Utah Beach on D-Day.

They were a small part of the largest invasion in history, but on that day their whole world was a cramped landing craft heading into the unknown.

"We didn't know what was going to happen,” recalls Lynd, now 85, a microbiologist and professor emeritus at Oklahoma State University.

The reality of the soldiers' situation became quickly apparent, Lynd said.

Lynd's LCVP (Land Craft Vehicle Personnel) was one of three in a formation heading for a section of Normandy beach when the platoon was rocked by a nearby "thunderous crack explosion,” Lynd wrote in his book about his experiences in this pivotal assault of World War II.

Looking in the direction of the blast, the soldiers saw no smoke, no debris and no sign of the LCVP — or its entire platoon — that had been on their wing.

"It disappeared,” Lynd said in an interview. "We didn't know what happened.”

Later, they learned, 23 of the 40 men on that craft were killed or missing.

For now — with swarms of bombers roaring overhead in the overcast, and only the cold wind and rough seas to distract from the thunder of war, the men's fate quickly drew near — the beach and the enemy that would try to kill them. As the door fell, the men waded waist-deep into the surf.

Zig-zagging across the first stretch of sand as fast as one could move with 60 pounds of weapons, ammo, rations and other gear, the men faced relatively light resistance, Lynd said. The platoon topped a small sea wall and moved into an area of land locals had farmed for centuries amid a series of hedgerows that held fresh water at bay. However, the Germans had released water into the lowland, forming a barrier to invasion, and, the enemy hoped, a killing field.

But the Allied soldiers heeded warnings of planners. They were told, "Don't stop,” Lynd said. "They didn't do that on Omaha Beach,” Lynd said of the nearby invasion location where many more died. "They stopped and dug in.” Dark uniforms on white beaches, he said, were "just perfect for mortar and artillery fire.”

So Lynd's troops, weapons held overhead, pushed through the waist-high water amid small arms fire, including the "Brrrappp!” of German machine guns, which fired more rapidly than those of the Allies. But the most feared, and effective, was the artillery and mortar fire. While small arms fire gave away positions and drew return fire, Lynd said, with mortars, "you don't know when those are coming in.”

Six weeks earlier, Lynd and thousands of others had rehearsed beach landings on the English coast in larger craft, an exercise that turned deadly.

While ships were practicing beach assaults, German U-boats attacked three of them, sinking one, resulting in 749 dead, the most costly training incident of the war.

"We got clobbered out there,” Lynd said.

However, the maneuvers paid off with improved tactics for the invasion, he said.

That's where Lynd's 1st Battalion decided mortar rounds would be the most effective weapon for fighting among the hedgerows.

So the battalion's soldiers placed black cylinder symbols on their chests, representing the extra 81-millimeter mortar rounds they carried during the invasion.

"We learned that, boy, that mortar was absolutely essential,” he said.

After clearing the coast on the invasion, the platoon made it to a small village, where the American forces regrouped. The highest casualties of the invasion weren't among soldiers, Lynd said. They were civilians, many of whom were wiped out by the pre-invasion bombardment.

"They were helpless,” he said. "That happens in every war.”

Cemeteries, as he found out later on return trips, are filled with entire families whose date of death is June 6, 1944.

As days wore on after the invasion, fighting evolved and became more organized on both sides. Patrols, the small incursions into enemy territory in advance of large troop movements, were the most dangerous, he said. Patrols are where Lynd's platoon would encounter the many tactics and weapons Germans had developed through years of warfare and research.

For instance, the infrared scope. As Lynd and his soldiers snuck through hedgerows at night, Germans seemed to know where they were, firing at positions the soldiers had just left.

"I knew (they) could see us in the dark,” he said.

As Allies learned later, German gunners had to switch the scopes off to take a shot because the muzzle