It is 7:30 a.m in France. The Normandy landings started this time on June 6, 1944

LFG

Those brave bastards would roll in their graves If they could see what this country has become.

Given over to filth.

Growing up I had an elderly neighbor. Mr. Ray.
He was a paratrooper during the insertion. Landed in a tree with a branch through his guts. Fought on. Lost his eye.

One hell of a bastard and I salute him.

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The most masculine and alpha as frick picture in world history.

The testosterone is seeping through my computer screen.

It’s hard to believe that from the Civil War to D-Day was roughly the same amount of time of D-Day to now.

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The most masculine and alpha as frick picture in world history.

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Just imagine...tumbling out of a Higgins boat into neck deep water while the luftwaffe strafes you with machine gun fire.

Your brothers in arms fall in gouts of red, their blood dancing with the whitecaps and turning them pink.

If you are lucky enough to reach the beach you are rewarded with the staccato percussions of automatic weapons from fortified German positions in the cliffs.


Yes...you might die. But that’s not up to you. If you die it will be in a hail of bullets trying to secure the beachhead for the men coming after you.

You huddle behind some bulwarks as the bullets pepper the wet sand around you. Men lay dying and bleeding, clutching spilling guts and severed limbs as artillery blows holes the size of Volkswagens in the beach.

You grit your teeth and steel your Nerves against the onslaught. Reaching into your bag, you pull a grenade out. The pin is cold steel in your incisors as you pull it from it’s deadly and final home, then throw it with all your might at the pillbox set into the cliffs beyond.

Your ears ring with the explosion as you charge forth into the fray, bullets whizzing past like charging cavaliers of old. You don’t even notice as one grazes you, the adrenaline pumping like gasoline through a Chevy running shine.

By some miracle you avoid the bullets and reach the cliffs. The entrance to the pillbox looms before you. The Germans inside don’t even notice you until you send a bullet through the machine gunner. The others turn, but too late as you unleash lead death upon them.

In the mayhem a young German private pounces on you from your left, knocking your gun from your hands. Instinctively you pull your knife from your side and drive it through his sternum. His ice blue eyes stare at you as the crimson blood erupts from his mouth.
“Mutter”.
His last words.
He falls limp in your arms as your brethren rush in.

Minutes have passed.
Might as well have been eternity.
Those dying ice blue eyes will haunt your dreams forever.

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But maybe the black soldiers who served that that day and were denied access to the G.I. Bill like their white fellow soldiers, or even denied the right to vote when they got home, or their kids who weren’t allowed to attend schools with white kids can look down from heaven and can acknowledge that today was a great day a very great day because unemployment is down 1.5%.

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Good point. Those guys were definitely treated differently in Normandy.

I have had the honor of visiting Normandy beach, Point du Hoc and Normandy American Cemetery and I am not a bit ashamed to say I had tears in my eyes. Looking down on the beach from the German bunkers and picturing the boats landings you wonder how it was possible for a single brave soul to survive.

And to think they did what they did so that absolute trash could loot and destroy ...

Higgins

Are we allowed to be proud of this anymore?