D-DAY • JUNE 6,1944 • As The Proud son of a WWII Veteran who Took part in the Normandy Invasion • OMAHA BEACH • GOD BLESS THEM ALL • Through their COURAGE & STRENGTH We live w/The Incredible gift that Freedom provides every American & Throughout the world • @IntrepidHeroes
Imagine being in Normandy in 1944 on D Day and telling them that in 82 years everyone on the right would be called a Nazi, that their great grandchildren would be murdered by foreigners while being called “racist”, and handcuffed while they bleed out.
Think they still would have stormed the beach? 🤔
When western civilization was on the brink of collapse, it was our boys who ran towards the fire.
Remember the heroes of Normandy— today and always.
And lets never stop fighting for a country that they would be proud of.
On June 6, 1944, Allied forces launched Operation Overlord and stormed the beaches of Normandy, beginning the liberation of Western Europe.
Today, we remember the courage, sacrifice and resolve of those who took part in D-Day. ⚓️
90% of the soldiers on the first boats to hit the beach didn't live to see the end of the day. Look at those faces. Some of them never made it to 18.
Never forget that they paid the ultimate price for our freedom. We live our lives the way we do because of them.
🇺🇸Not all men are created equal...
Today, we honor and remember those courageous and brave men on the 82nd anniversary of the D-Day invasion at Normandy.
🪖🎖🇺🇸
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.