Cherbourg, perched at the northern tip of France's Cotentin Peninsula on the shores of the English Channel, is one of Europe's few deep-water ports. From the outset of the Normandy campaign, Allied planners deemed it essential to seize and utilize this German-held harbor as a logistics hub. The U.S. First Army was tasked with its capture, while the British Second Army staged diversionary attacks around Caen to pin down German forces. Although Field Marshal Rommel hastily bolstered infantry lines from Caen to Le Mans and readied armored reserves for a counterstroke, the British pre-emptive thrust upset his timetable.
By mid-June, the British 7th Armoured Division, pressing southwest of Caen, ran into the SS 2nd Panzer Division, fresh from Amiens. Though the British suffered significant losses, they succeeded in drawing that elite force into Caen's perimeter. Meanwhile, on June 12 the Americans secured Carentan, severing German reinforcement routes to Caen. To relieve the pressure on Cherbourg, Rommel rushed the SS 17th Panzer Division north from Brittany to attack the First Army's flank. Despite heavy American casualties, by the 16th the U.S. forces had smashed through the German defenses around Saint-Vô.
As the First Army pressed inexorably forward, Hitler ordered Cherbourg's garrison-four divisions-to "hold fast to the last man." Knowing his troops were exhausted after months of fighting, Rommel urged a withdrawal to the Seine, only to be refused. After Saint-Vô fell, he disobeyed and withdrew most of his forces southward, salvaging the bulk of his strength. By June 20, the U.S. 3rd Infantry Division stood within eight kilometers of Cherbourg. The German commander threw every available soldier and laborer into the defenses-barely the strength of four understrength regiments-yet what was meant to be a swift reduction became one of the bloodiest assaults in the Normandy campaign. Only after storming fortified positions and brutal street fighting did the battered harbor finally fall.
Lieutenant Colonel Langford's Rangers were assigned to neutralize German coastal batteries and secure the port's docks, power stations, and other vital installations in support of the U.S. Ninth Infantry Division. I commanded Company 3 in coordination with the Ninth Division's 1st Regiment. Upon reaching our assault positions, we waited a full day-Allied command hoped General Schlieben would capitulate and preserve the port. Instead, he used the respite to reinforce his defenses. Today, patience has run out: the assault on Cherbourg is on.
"Four German regiments?" Luca said with a grin. "We've got six divisions-and air and artillery support. Should be easy."
Given our overwhelming strength, I felt the same. "All right-but once we hit the city, stay sharp. Every building could be a booby-trapped strongpoint. If you face resistance, call in artillery and blast it out."
"Understood!"
"Here are our orders from Colonel Clinn: An engineer detachment is attached to us. We'll breach the civilian districts in sectors A and B on the city's south side, clear all anti-tank obstacles and mines, then establish a defensive perimeter to receive the armor. When the tanks arrive, we'll surge up Commercial Street, link with 2nd company of the 1st Regiment, and then strike City Hall together-aiming for a decisive, one-push capture. Any questions?"
"Clear!" the men answered in unison.
"Good. Joanner, you lead the first wave. Search every building and street corner thoroughly; once you secure a position, dig in and cover the follow-on units. Gibbs, your platoon follows Joanner-after you pass his line, establish your own defense just in front of his. Luca and Donovan, you'll rotate in the same fashion. Keep safe intervals, advance methodically, and leave no enemy behind until we join with 3rd Company of the 1st Regiment."
"Yes, sir!"
"Questions?" I scanned my officers.
"Enemy artillery?" Gibbs asked.
"Likely some, but light. All right-at 0610 we go in. One hour to prepare, and maybe we'll get a show from air and artillery."
At dawn, dozens of U.S. B-24 "Liberators" thundered over Cherbourg in tight formation. One after another they released their payloads: incendiaries followed by high-explosive bombs. Each detonation sent towering fireballs skyward. The entire city was instantly engulfed in smoke and flame.
"Bomb 'em! Bomb 'em! Yeah!" our radioman Brooks cheered, like a child at a fireworks display. Nearly everyone around me roared their approval-proud of America's overwhelming air power. I alone felt a knot of unease.
This carpet-bombing tactic traced back to Italian General Giulio Douhet's 1930s doctrine: he argued that heavy bombers, bristling with guns, should spearhead any offensive-shattering defenses before ground forces moved in. Though Douhet's ideas were rejected in Italy, the U.S. Army Air Forces adopted them wholesale, mounting Browning .50-caliber guns in every turret-nose, dorsal, tail, and belly-creating a lethal, all-around "hedgehog" of firepower.
As the Liberators turned for home, two sleek fighters screamed toward them. The bomber formation held steady.
"German fighters!" Brooks shouted. The black-and-white Balkenkreuz gleamed on their fuselages.
They were Me 262 A-1 "Sturmvogel" jet fighters-capable of 870 km/h and astonishingly nimble. Despite critical fuel shortages in 1944, the Luftwaffe managed to field a substantial number. Allied Mustang escort fighters (max speed 690 km/h) could dogfight well but seldom caught a jet that didn't want to be caught-leaving many bombers vulnerably exposed.
The two jets skimmed low over Cherbourg, then vaulted upward, slicing into the B-24 formation's tail and flank like predators. Below, every man clutched his rifle-praying for our escorts.
Liberator gunners opened up with .50-caliber belts, weaving a curtain of tracer fire behind them. The German jets barely flinched-nudging their approach to stay locked on their prey. Rear-element bombers wagged their wings, trying to slip the hunted aircraft into the formation's protective core.
Then everything shifted.
Instead of pressing the same target, the jets climbed again to seek the formation's weak spots. One tilted sharply, cutting through the seam between two bomber elements; the other dove in from the rear, unleashing a 30 mm cannon salvo across a Liberator's bomb bay. The bomber shuddered, caught fire, and plummeted earthward in a ball of flame.
"Damn it-he's ripping that bird apart!" Joanner cursed through his binoculars.
"Where are our fighters?!" Donovan snapped.
"They're here!" I pointed north-eight white specks streaked toward us.
The jets, sensing the interceptors, peeled away into a cloud layer. Moments later, eight P-51 Mustangs-two flights of four-dove in. Single-ship sections chased the jets while the other flight guarded the bombers. Despite the speed differential, the Mustangs' superior turning radius let them stay glued to their targets. One jet, trailing smoke, tried to climb away, but three Mustangs boxed in and hammered it until it exploded in mid-air.
Its wingman, now alone, shot east into the clouds. The Mustangs gathered in pursuit until all contrails faded from view.
In under ten minutes, Cherbourg's skies had witnessed strategic bombing, jet strafing, and classic dogfighting-leaving behind a city scarred by fire and a stark demonstration of the deadly new age of aerial warfare.