10 years. 10 years. I’ve listened to every Dem & never Trump pundit call Trump, Elon and anyone else who voted Republican a Nazi. And now they line up behind Platner, with an actual Nazi tattoo. Unbelievable.
Ray’s Rock - Omaha Beach
On the morning of June 6, 1944, 23 year old Staff Sergeant Arnold “Ray” Lambert came ashore with the first wave of the 1st Infantry Division on the eastern side of Omaha Beach. At this small patch of concrete he saved nearly 20 lives:
The division came under intense fire from several German bunkers surrounding the entrance to the Colville Draw (one of two exits off Omaha Beach). Ray, a medic, immediately went to work.
He was shot in the arm. Moments later he was hit by shrapnel in the leg, but Ray kept pulling men to safety. He pulled nearly 20 wounded soldiers to cover behind this 8ft wide obstacle, treating each soldier before going out in search of others.
After several hours under fire, while pulling a wounded soldier from the ocean, he was struck by a landing craft. It dropped its ramp on top of him, breaking his back. He fell face down in the water, drowning. The craft backed up and nearby soldiers pulled an unconscious Ray to safety, eventually evacuating him off the beach.
Remarkably, Ray had already earned two Silver Stars and three Purple Hearts in Sicily and North Africa, prior to landing in France. But here in Normandy his war would end.
He awoke in a hospital back in England a day later. In the next bed over was his brother, who had also been wounded at Omaha.
When asked about his work on D-Day, Ray simply said, “I did what I was called to do.”
Ray Lambert passed in 2021 at 100 years old. He exemplified the best of American grit and why remembering this day is so important.
June 6th, 1944.
The English Channel is angry and half the men in the landing craft are seasick. Diesel fumes mix with saltwater and vomit while rifles are checked for the fifth or sixth time by hands that need something to do. Nobody talks much anymore because the jokes have all been told and the bravado has finally burned away somewhere behind the English coast.
You are nineteen years old and carrying more weight than you’ve ever carried in your life. You don’t know it yet, but it’s the most weight you will EVER carry in this life. However long or short it may be.
Your rifle rests across your knees. Your life hangs from a few pounds of steel, wood, and training. Somewhere beyond the gray horizon sits a continent that has spent five years tearing itself apart, and in a few minutes you are going to step into the middle of it.
Across from you sits another kid. He can’t be much older than you. His jaw is clenched. His knuckles are white around his weapon. Neither of you says a word because there is nothing left to say.
Then your eyes drift toward his shoulder.
That red numeral catches your eye: “1”.
You’ve seen it a thousand times before. In barracks hallways, on training fields, in motor pools, and on long marches. It never meant much beyond belonging to the same outfit.
Now it means everything.
Because in a few minutes the world is going to ask something terrible of both of you, and there is comfort in knowing that whatever waits on that beach, neither of you will face it alone.
The historians will eventually reduce this day to arrows on maps and casualty figures. Politicians will give speeches. Journalists will write books. None of that exists inside the landing craft.
What exists is fear, and duty.
What exists is the understanding that courage was never the absence of fear. Courage was always charging into the maelstrom anyway.
The shoreline emerges through the smoke. You can see flashes now. You can hear the distant percussion of artillery. Men stop checking their equipment because there is no point anymore. Whatever mistakes were made are already made. Whatever prayers were going to be said have already been said.
The coxswain throttles down.
The boat grinds forward.
The ramp is about to drop.
Into the abyss.
Overlord.
Eighty-two years ago today, freedom stood on the edge of extinction, and Allied forces stormed into hell to help save the world.
We will never forget the courage, the sacrifice, and the blood spilled on that fateful day.
"I shall never forget that beach...one dead soldier in particular who caught my eye. I wonder about him. What were his plans never to be fulfilled, what fate brought him to that spot at that moment? Who was waiting for him at home?"
— Corporal William Preston
D-Day
If you don't vote, I don't want to hear you ever complain about any of the filth, crime, or decline in LA again. Get off your butt and VOTE, or enjoy what you get.
@Cardinals Lame.
There's no need to do this anymore, it's ok to be normal now.
I'll be watching other teams that don't celebrate this nonsense for the rest of the month.