A teenage soldier in the Wehrmacht, Franz Gockel had his 18th birthday while serving as a gunner in a 'resistance nest' on Omaha beach. He was shot in the hand and evacuated to Paris before serving again and being captured by the Americans. After 18 months in custody he was released and returned to his home town of Hamm, where he set up a roofing company and still lives with his wife. Gockel has made regular trips to Normandy since shortly after the war, and has many friends there. "We were sound asleep when suddenly, around 1.00 a.m., the blockhouse rang with one scream: 'Alarm!' We hated the cursed alarm, and we were waiting to go back into the collective blockhouse. Si1ence was growing heavy. Inside, tension was escalating. Soon, there was humming in the sky, forewarning of bombers drawing close. But again, the shoreline was flown over as had so frequently occurred recently. Silence did not last long, though. New bomber units reached at dawn. There were black shadows looming on the horizon. First, we thought they were German motor boats, but the shadows grew, and pretty soon, they were so numerous that we could no longer hold on to our hope. We could make out the outline of smaller and larger boats in increasing numbers. Additional bomber units were drawing near the coast. Bombs were burying into the sand and the rocks with roars and whizzes. We were surrounded by mud and smoke. The earth was shaking. Our eyes and noses were filled with dust. Our teeth were grinding sand. No support was to be expected. Our airplanes would not show up. There was no defence airbase on this section of the shoreline. Bombers were able to dump their deadly loading unhindered. In-between air raids, heavy navy artillery shells exploded. At dawn, the landing fleet was drawing near, adding to the horror endured by our defence units. The battle had begun, offering us no way out. It may have been the very absence of hope that drove our fierce fight to defend our positions. A gigantic fleet was facing our section of the shoreline. Huge warships were 1ining up as if assembling for a parade. The vision it afforded us was a unique but horrible experience for the few men who had survived the shelling. Assault crafts and special landing boats were rushing towards the beach. The first landing forces tightly packed on their crafts jumped down. Water came up to their knees, sometimes to their chests. Subsequently, they ran through the wide open and completely exposed beach up to the gravel bank, their first shelter. It was then that our units came to life. Until that point, we had put up no resistance. It did not make any sense to undertake any action against air raids and shelling from the sea. We were all striving to protect our lives as best as we could by seeking shelter in the blockhouses and in holes dug out underground. It was the first bursts of machine-gun fire that prompted us to take up arms. Troops from the first assault and landing crafts crumpled up, dead or wounded in the first few yards. Unsteered assault crafts were drifting aimlessly. This all lasted but one moment. Franz Gockel, at La Cambe Cemetery in 2003 Meanwhile, the second wave of landing boats had reached. Again, they ran towards the beach. Again, our units defended their positions. However, our resistance was failing. More and more of our comrades were getting killed or wounded. The tide slowly began to rise. Again, the waters were washing the beach. The exposed path to be covered by the landing troops was becoming shorter. Unloading boats were opening their ramps to let out tanks shooting and heading at top speed for the beach. The battle had been raging for several hours. The beach was strewn with soldiers from the landing forces, dead, wounded or seeking shelter. However, it was impossible to remain lying. The tide was rising. The waters were swelling. Anyone who could run and crawl was seeking refuge on the beach. Many died from defence fire. However, we also had many casualties in our ranks. The wounds of those with minor injuries had been dressed, and they had been evacuated to the rear. The wounds of those with major injuries had been dressed, and they had been sheltered. Our comrades who had died were left behind. No-one had any time to take care of the dead. The rising tide carried dead and wounded soldiers towards the land, together with debris from the boats and from destroyed vehicles. It was shocking to see how they kept sending: new landing troops to their death. We were face to face, within calling distance."
