PaperWork: More than many of us, veterans understand fear and duty

I bent over and pulled a white mollusk shell from the sand.

Fragments were everywhere, planted by perpetual tides and surf of the English Channel.

The surf was soothing and the sand was comforting as beaches should be. In the distance a young woman rode her horse into the water.

All at peace, I thought, also knowing I was standing there because there was a D-Day, June 6, 1944, when all around me was bloody chaos.

Time and tide have left only memories of the atrocities. Still I wondered about the countless shell fragments tossed in the surf since that fateful day and how the grains of sand had been cleansed of blood. It’s been noted that fragments of shrapnel from D-Day still can be found in the sand.

War correspondent Ernie Pyle walked the beaches the day after the successful invasion.

“Submerged tanks and overturned boats and burned trucks and shell-shattered jeeps and sad little personal belongings were strewn all over these bitter sands,” he wrote.

“As I plowed out over the wet sand of the beach on that first day ashore, I walked around what seemed to be a couple of pieces of driftwood sticking out of the sand.

“They were a soldier’s two feet. He was completely covered by the shifting sands except for his feet. …

“The strong, swirling tides of the Normandy coastline shift the contours of the sandy beach as they move in and out. They carry soldiers’ bodies out to sea, and later they return them. They cover the bodies of heroes with sand, and then in their whims they uncover them.”

Now I have left footprints in that sand of time. And came home with a few shells that also had been pulled and pushed in that surf. They felt more important than souvenirs in the nearby shop.

I stood on Utah Beach and our tour would take us to Omaha Beach where I stepped down into a German bunker and peered through slits in the thick concrete walls. I clearly saw the beach where soldiers were easy targets gasping for air and struggling for footing.

Later we walked among the familiar white crosses marking the dead. A mix of beautiful and sad. I felt a slight jolt when I came across a marker for Kenneth R. Brinker, a private in the Infantry who died three days after the invasion. He was from Illinois. Somehow I felt a connection.

The Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer covers 172.5 acres and contains graves of 9,389 of our military dead, most killed on D-Day and related operations.

My wife and I stood in silence as flags were lowered and taps echoed across the grounds. We were thinking of our fathers, although neither were part of D-Day. My dad served on an LST in the Battle of Okinawa. Her father was in the China Burma India Theater.

Standing among thousands who did not survive, I felt the slippery tip toe between those who lived and those who died. I am here because my dad was lucky.

Many who survived have returned to the beaches to pay personal tribute. And likely relived horrible memories also stuck in the surf and tides of time.

Then they return home, like I did. Land of the free. Home of the brave. Where we have set aside time to honor all veterans, including those who survive or serve as needed.

More than many of us, veterans must embrace a hope that all the sacrifice and pledge to duty is worth it.

Many of us see war mostly through books and lecture. And perhaps movies.

But can we appreciate or even understand the sacrifices made over time … or of those who stand ready today to face the fire?

No, not enough. Never enough.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.