Nomad News-Vol.4-No.88

ARRIVAL ON OMAHA BEACH: The skies were dark and dreary as members of the Photo Lab and Photo Intelligence Sections of the 33rd Photo Reconnaissance Squadron descended the port side of the Liberty ship, via the rope mesh and stepped into the waiting Landing Craft Infantry (LCI). We had boarded the vessel the previous evening in Southhampton, crossing the Channel overnight, and were now several hundred yards off the beach. The helmsman on the LCI guided his craft through a myriad of half-sunken hulls of all types of naval craft, scattered as far as the eye could see. When we stepped off on the beach, the havoc was repeated, except now it was all types of military gear. We proceeded to the base of the cliff and the pathway through the cliff prepared by the Army Engineer Corps. Captain James Warndorf was in command and we lined up in a column behind the captain. First off, Captain Warndorf had coordinated Camera Repair, the Photo Lab, and Photo Intelligence into an admirable organization whereby the cameras could be removed from the aircraft, delivered to Photo Lab where the film was processed and prints made, on their way to Photo Intelligence and first-phase interpreted in less than hour, and on their way to the ground forces. The captain was an arrogant s.o.b., immaculate in uniform dress, everything personal in place and I always felt he believed the enlisted men were a lower breed. He was better suited to be a captain in the Wehrmacht than the American Army. Later, I was to learn more. Now, back to Omaha Beach. I was about a yard directly behind Captain Warndorf. I looked at his 6-foot 2-inch, 202 pound frame and then considered my 5-foot 6-inch, 130-pound frame: Everything on the captain's back was exactly what I had on my back; carbine, ammunition, K-rations for three days, canteen with water, etc. I knew he would take off arrogantly with a big stride and thought to myself: go ahead, I'll keep up with you stride for stride and reach the top a yard behind you. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. I maintained the tempo for about seventy-five percent of the climb and try as I might, I couldn't keep up and ended about seven or eight strides behind him. After the war, I was speaking with Mike Spero who lived in Boise, Idaho. Mike had been in P.I. with me and before that in civilian life had been a construction engineer. Mike pulled out his slide rule, and calculating my weight and length of stride against the captain's, I beat the captain to the top by ten strides. I have Mike's formulation but I can't put my fingers on it at this moment. By early winter we were now in Nodebais, Belgium. One day we were playing touch football (we did get breaks when the weather was bad etc.) and Captain Warndorf was on the defense team and I was on the offense, and ran past the captain to catch a pass. As I passed him, he struck me high on the right thigh with his knee. This was no error, he meant to injure. Never before in my life or afterwards have I experienced such pain. I could barely walk but I was determined that he would not see my suffering. I gathered all the power and will I could as I walked past him on the way back to my team. Every step was excruciating pain but I wasn't going to let him see that he had injured me. At the war's end, the squadron held reunions every two years. I didn't attend any until the tenth which was in Virginia, not too far from where I lived. Major Warndorf was there but in the advanced stages of alzheimer's disease and didn't recognize me and I didn't recognize him. It was sad. (copyright 2014 - Andrew M. Dolan)