D-Day - 06 June 1944 - A Remeberance The following was transcribed faithfully from the original handwritten account by then Lt. R. Craig Fabian, USNR, Commanding Officer LCT Group 50 and Assault Commander LCT’s, Utah Beach. The original was written around the fiftieth anniversary of the Normandy Invasion in 1994. On August 7, 2000, an old sailor slipped below the waves in his final fight and joined our mother Mimi, a WWII Army Nurse Corps veteran who passed away in 1991, and many of his shipmates who also preceded him. God Bless the United States of America and all who have served her in war and in peace. “Normandy D-Day 1944” “Early in May 1944 my flotilla commander told me that I was to be the LCT assault commander for an as yet to be identified beach at which the bulk of the LCTs were to come from our Flotilla 17, moored at Dartmouth in the River Dart in southern England. I was the c.o. of Group 50 and was 23 years old. The c.o. of Group 49 was 32, a Miami lawyer, and a Notre Dame graduate. The c.o. of group 51 was 34 and a Paducah businessman. Our very capable flotilla commander was 43, a brilliant Wall Street lawyer and an accomplished Narragansett-to-Bermuda sailor. A secret meeting of key naval and army personnel was held a few days later at the Royal Marine Barracks in Plymouth. All four of us attended. Within days the port of embarkation areas were shut off from communications, and we knew we were in it. Delivered individually to our loaded LCTs were the heavy manuals with the details of Operation Overlord. Second officers, some fresh out of NROTC and all of them with no LCT experience, were reporting on board, it seemed, right up to the last minute. My group flagship, the 809, was designated the ship upon which all other LCTs of Force U (Utah Beach) would take station. The 809’s navigational aid was the USS Corry, on whose fantail stood Commander Robert Montgumery, the movie actor, who literally talked the 809 across the channel, bidding us good-bye and good luck at the line of departure for the beach. Late in the afternoon on June 4 we departed from Dartmouth on the flood tide. The sea was running high, and the weather became increasingly inclement. Some of our craft had army personnel on board since May 31 with stress and strain on the LCT’s limited facilities. During the waiting period for departure card games were in high gear on the well decks with high stakes. With the Corry off our starboard bow we headed east toward Portland Bill, then made a right turn to form up our stations for the leg to Utah Beach to land on June 5. Meantime, the weather became increasingly foul and we were ordered to turn around and return to Portland and Force O (Omaha Beach) to return to Portsmouth. It was a confusing situation. Sometime later the call came to form up again, and the Corry with the help of some yard craft got us back together somewhat in the order planned. Commander Montgumery earned his money from then on. Just before first light on June 6 we reached the Mason-Dixon line, the code name for the point of departure. The Corry said good-bye and the 809 headed for the beach eleven miles away. At about this time the 12 LCTs in waves of four craft each were launching the special DD (canvas flotation) tanks, each with twin screws, several hundred yards from the beach. The 809 followed with men and equipment of the 1st Engineers Special Brigade of the 4th Infantry Division. We were followed by successive waves of Flotilla 17 craft each wave with 4 or 5 craft. One carried celebrities. On the 764, for example, there rode Larry LeSeur, one of Ed Murrow’s CBS combat radio announcers and Joan Crawford’s brother, and Gordon Gammock, then war correspondent for the Des Moines News Register who later won a Pulitzer Prize while editor at the Register. And then came the carnage….An air burst struck the bridge of the 663. The quartermaster fell wounded in the legs, the young second officer from the University of North Carolina was killed instantly, and the skipper with blood streaming down his face from shrapnel which penetrated his helmet in such a manner to prevent its removal from his head, refusing medical care until after the action was completed. He is still alive today in Avenel, N. J. The 663, earlier before its unfortunate action, was following in formation the unlucky numbered 777 which struck a mine. In addition to its crew and its army load, the 777 also carried elements of the LCT Flotilla 17 command and the LCT Group 49 command. The losses were heavy. Many dead among the army. The skipper, a young man from Richmond, VA – killed; the flotilla staff quartermaster who was the speediest sprinter in the entire flotilla, good looking, eighteen years old, and from Great Falls, Montana – killed; the CO and communications officer of Group 49 severely wounded; 5 MIA, and 15 others WIA, including the second officer. It was no longer a Solomons MD or Little Creek VA drill. And we were no longer boys. Epilogue: A word about the courageous USS Corry which was sunk later in the day on June 6 while successfully putting shore batteries of the enemy out of commission. We saw the captain and forward gun crew depart with decks awash after she had struck a mine.” LCT 777 - At Rest At Low Tide, D+1 Respectfully, Tom Fabian, a proud son born 3 years, 3 months, and 3 days after the action described. In our last private conversation about Normandy in May 2000 his gentle admonition to me was that, “we who came home were not heroes, we just did our job, the ones who didn’t make it back – they were the heroes.”
Posted on: Thu, 06 Jun 2013 13:57:10 +0000