21 Base Defence Sector at Omaha Beach, 6 June 1944

The starting point must be D-Day itself, and the story of one of the RAF units that landed in Normandy on 6 June 1944.

A high-tide wet-shod landing at Omaha; this was the original plan for 21 Base
Defence Sector, but the reality would prove very different

Omaha Beach has an entirely justified notoriety in twentieth century military history. Popularly known as ‘Bloody Omaha’, it was the one D-Day landing beach where almost everything went disastrously wrong. The cost, in terms of manpower and equipment losses, was inevitably very high. Omaha was one of  the two American landing beaches in Normandy. Nevertheless, a small British unit also came ashore there on 6 June 1944 – a unit substantially composed of RAF radar controllers and operators, communications specialists, drivers, technicians and mechanics. They were known as 21 Base Defence Sector (BDS). Their story was first unearthed by the RAF’s official historians soon after the Second World War, but it was then largely forgotten until the 50th anniversary commemorations of D-Day in 1994 helped generate a renewed interest in the Normandy campaign.

Research conducted since has added significantly to our knowledge of 21 BDS’s experience on D-Day. The results can now be consulted via at least two highly informative websites and a number of individual online contributions to broader historical recording. These invaluable resources are only limited in their utility by the website format, which breaks the story down into a multiplicity of disparate elements. It was felt that there was, perhaps, a case for presenting a single, coherent narrative too.

The following account was primarily written with that end in mind. Its aim is to integrate what we know about the 21 BDS landing into the wider picture of the Omaha Beach landings on 6 June 1944. Theirs was not just a random account of a group of British forces personnel who happened to turn up at a particular place and time to be confronted by a near-catastrophic military situation. The broader history of Omaha, together with the more specific role, plans and training of 21 BDS all influenced the development and outcome of events. Beyond this, detailed analysis of the tactical level provides an important insight into the reality of the Omaha battle, which differs so fundamentally from the Hollywood depictions and serves to highlight a number of familiar military themes, such as command and control, ‘train to fight’, and sustainability.

The fundamentals of the 21 BDS narrative were replicated many times across Omaha Beach that day. Theirs was a story of extraordinary human courage and endeavour in the face of extreme adversity. But whereas the majority of the victors of Omaha were US Army infantrymen trained specifically for their assault role or battle-hardened by earlier campaigns, 21 BDS was a British radar unit that somehow prevailed through the leadership of a second-in-command, a padre, and medical and technical officers of exceptional ability and resourcefulness.

Bloody Omaha

Omaha is a long, flat sandy beach backed by high bluffs. The landscape is so obviously favourable to defence that visitors still commonly question why amphibious landings were staged there at all. The answer is linked to the more general Allied plan for opening a second front in Normandy. By January 1944, it was clear that, if the landings were to succeed, a broad front had to be established as quickly as possible, both to resist a German counter-attack and accelerate the Allied reinforcement rate. From Ouistreham to Le Hamel (Sword to Gold Beach), the topography of Normandy’s coast was relatively benign for invading forces, but a landing confined to that region would have been far too narrow. The operation, codenamed ‘Neptune’, had therefore to be extended further west. However, from Arromanches to the base of the Cotentin Peninsula, the coast was characterised by long stretches of high cliff. The only beach large enough for a major amphibious assault was Omaha.

In short, Omaha had to be taken. How, then, was this to be achieved? Omaha is a long slightly crescent-shaped beach punctuated by four small valleys, or ‘draws’, as the Americans called them. The only way to move an army numbering tens of thousands of men and immense quantities of motorised vehicles, equipment and supplies off the beach was by capturing the draws. Needless to say, this was patently obvious to the Germans, and the draws were thus the most heavily defended areas.

The German defences began on the beach flats, which were covered with obstacles, many of which were mined. Among other things, this reflected the German expectation that the Allies would seek to land at high tide so that there was minimal open beach for the assault troops to cross under fire. Above the tide line, there was a large shingle bank, impassable to most motor vehicles; in some places it was backed by a sea wall. On the other side of the bank was concertina barbed wire. The dunes and marshes between the beach and the bluffs were heavily mined.

German beach defences at the D-3 (Les Moulins) draw - the most heavily
fortified area of Omaha

An air photograph of the same area on the morning of D-Day

There were trenches and machine gun nests in the bluffs and at their summit, along with mortars and artillery batteries further back – all carefully zeroed in on the beach. But the bluffs were less heavily defended than the draws. At the draws, the Germans built what they called ‘resistance nests’, consisting of concrete artillery emplacements, smaller pillboxes, machine gun and mortar positions and extensive trench systems fronted by mines and barbed wire. High barriers or anti-tank ditches blocked all the exits. At the Les Moulins draw (numbered D-3 by the Americans), 21 BDS found ‘underground passages like rabbit warrens, honeycombing the whole area’. The beach was defended by three battalions – about 2,500 men – two of which comprised good-quality German personnel drawn from 352 Division; the third consisted of lower-quality Eastern Europeans.

If the Omaha landing was to succeed, an effective joint fire support plan was essential, but it proved difficult to reconcile the need for heavy fire support with the amphibious landing plan. The amphibious plan decreed that the invasion force would cross the channel under cover of darkness and be positioned for the assault before daybreak. The landings would then proceed shortly after daybreak in co-ordination with tidal conditions. By coming ashore soon after daybreak the Allies were seeking to achieve tactical surprise, but it was also essential to land at low tide so that the beach obstacles were exposed. The problem was, however, that the joint fire plan could not commence until daybreak, and the landings could not begin until the fire plan had been completed. At Omaha this timetable left only 40 minutes for the execution of the whole fire plan, including 25 minutes for the air element of the plan. The longer term bombing operations mounted in support of the landings targeted the larger coastal artillery batteries rather than the beach defences.

To deliver the largest possible quantity of ordnance on to the beaches within this brief period, the aerial bombardment task was assigned to the heavy bombers of the US Eighth Air Force. Bombing from the air was to be followed by a naval bombardment, after which the first landing forces would hit the beach. Their task was to capture the draws, while combat engineers cleared paths through the obstacles and unblocked the exits. This would allow the following waves of assault craft to be brought safely up to the top of the beach on the rising tide; the troops and vehicles on-board would then advance inland through the exits.

The factor that defeated the air support plan was the weather. D-Day was planned for 5 June 1944 but postponed to the 6th on weather grounds, yet conditions on the 6th were still far from perfect. The original air bombardment plan at Omaha assumed clear conditions and visual bomb aiming. Specific targets – gun batteries, strongpoints, and headquarters buildings – were even selected. However, no such precision could be expected if there was extensive cloud cover. The 8th Air Force practised attacking beaches through cloud using the radar-based bombing aid H2X and were reasonably confident of their ability to hit the target area so long as it showed up clearly on the H2X display.

Of necessity, enhanced measures were taken to ensure that the bombers did not hit the landing force. In general, the bomb pattern from a formation of heavy bombers tended to creep backwards from the target area, so crews were directed to delay the release of their bombs, and the interval between the bombing and the arrival of the first assault troops was also extended.

At dawn on 6 June, the bombers went in, flying at around 18,000ft. The target area was covered by cloud, and they had to bomb using H2X. However, it was found that the relatively featureless coastline was impossible to identify clearly. In keeping with their orders, the bomb aimers delayed release to ensure that they didn’t hit friendly forces, and the result was that they bombed long. Hardly any bombs landed in the beach area, and most fell harmlessly in the Normandy countryside.

The naval bombardment was barely more successful, partly because it was too short, partly because it was not very accurate, and partly because the most heavily armed ships were used against coastal batteries some distance from the beach. Swimming tanks – Duplex Drive Shermans – were also supposed to provide fire support, but they were launched too far from the beach, and most of them sunk before reaching the shore. In summary, the air bombardment failed, the naval bombardment failed, and hardly any tanks got safely ashore. So Omaha became, in effect, an unsupported landing by infantry against extremely well prepared defensive positions.

During the run-in, numerous landing craft went off course and beached around the draws – the most heavily defended areas. Many were also halted by sandbars well before the shore and offloaded the assault troops into water that was anything from waist to neck-deep. When the ramps went down, the defenders poured a devastating barrage of fire into the assault infantry as they tried to struggle ashore. Within minutes, the tide-line at Omaha was transformed into a state of chaos, confusion and carnage. Men tried to take cover in the water or behind beach obstacles. Most of those who survived managed to cross the beach flats and found a limited amount of shelter behind the shingle bank. Many of them lost their officers or their units and jettisoned their equipment. None of the draws were captured, and few of the beach obstacles were cleared.

American troops seeking cover behind the beach obstacles
during the morning assault on Omaha

Vehicles lined up along the shingle bank at high tide, 
unable to get off the beach

An invasion force of 40,000 troops was now heading for Omaha on the assumption that the beach had been captured and the exits opened. In fact, they were all still closed. The second wave of landing craft suffered a fate similar to the first, the troops who got ashore merely joining the others behind the shingle bank. With a rising tide, congestion soon became a chronic problem, as wave after wave of landing craft unloaded personnel, vehicles and equipment on to a smaller and smaller area under continuous fire.

21 BD Sector

From the very outset, Allied planning for the Normandy operation attached a high importance to the air defence of the lodgement area. The experience of the Dieppe raid in 1942 suggested that the landings would immediately be confronted by a strong and determined Luftwaffe response. By the early spring of 1944, it was clear that the Luftwaffe’s daylight combat capability was being severely degraded by the Allied strategic bombing offensive and deliberate counter-air operations in Northern France, but this merely increased the relative importance of night air defence. If the Germans were no longer capable of presenting a significant air threat by day, they could be expected to focus more of their efforts on strikes against the Allied lodgement area under cover of darkness. For this reason, it would be essential to establish radar warning and – especially – Ground-Control Intercept (GCI) capabilities in Normandy as soon as the landings began.

In night air defence, GCI represented a critical capability. In the daylight air battles over Southern England in 1940, the raid-reporting and fighter-control functions of RAF Fighter Command had been entirely separate. Intercepting fighter squadrons were vectored towards incoming raids, attacking them once they were visually identified. However, by night, such tactics were impractical for the simple reason that the fighter pilots could no longer spot the raiders. Airborne radar offered one solution but lacked the necessary range to be employed independently. GCI provided the solution by uniting raid reporting and control at a single ground station. By plotting the course of both the raider and the intercepting fighter, the ground GCI station could direct the fighter to a position close enough to its intended target to allow the final interception to be effected using Airborne Intercept (AI) radar.

For Normandy – drawing on the experience of Sicily – the Allies assigned responsibility for air raid reporting and fighter control in the lodgement or ‘base’ area to 85 Group. The group reported directly to Leigh-Mallory’s Headquarters, Allied Expeditionary Air Force (HQ AEAF), an arrangement that left the RAF’s Second Tactical Air Force and the USAAF’s IX Army Air Force free to concentrate on the provision of tactical air support for ground forces.

The 85 Group base defence plan for Operation Neptune assigned the initial GCI task to three Landing Ships (Tank) (LSTs) specially fitted with appropriate equipment. They were termed Fighter Direction Tenders and were to operate off the landing beaches, while mobile GCI stations went ashore. The first GCI units would subsequently be augmented by additional stations and other warning capabilities, such as Chain Overseas Low (COL) and mobile Light Warning Sets. Radar cover would thus be steadily increased across the base area until a comprehensive radar screen had been established. It was planned to deploy some 19 radar units by D+14.

The basic principles of this system were similar to those applied in the United Kingdom. Following the landings, overall responsibility for warning and control would be assumed by operations centres, to which all the deployed radar units would report. Initially, however, 85 Group’s vanguard was to consist of two Base Defence Sectors, elements of which would land on D-Day, one in the British beachhead and one in the American. The first echelon of 21 BDS, beaching at Omaha on 6 June, was 15082 GCI. Their primary equipment was the Air Ministry Experimental Station (AMES) Type 15 GCI system, but they were also to deploy with AMES Type 13 centimetric height-finding equipment, an AMES Type 14 centimetric plan-position station, an AMES Type 11 mobile radar and a substantial communications element. Collectively, this equipment was referred to as AMES Type 25. Attached to 21 BDS was one company of a British Army signals unit, 16 Air Formation Signals, and a number of their personnel also landed at Omaha on D-Day. Their task was to establish the main trunk telephone network for deployed RAF elements in Normandy and maintain an overland delivery service, using jeeps and motorcycles.

AMES Type 15 GCI

AMES Type 13 centimetric height-finder

AMES Type 14 plan position

AMES Type 11

The two Base Defence Sectors were to commence operations as soon as possible after coming ashore and establish communication with the Fighter Direction Tenders. They would initially function as satellites to the ‘master’ Fighter Direction Tender (217 FDT), but the lead role would subsequently pass to the GCI station in the British sector. The build-up of radar units would then follow.

The officers and airmen selected to maintain and operate GCI units in Normandy were first sent to RAF Renscombe Down, near Swanage in Dorset, where they spent about a year training for their primary role. Controllers and operators were subjected to a continuous programme of practice interceptions. Later, personnel were also trained to carry out their duties under field conditions. There were numerous exercises, including amphibious operations, and commando training was provided at the Combined Operations School, HMS Dundonald. The official monograph’s suggestion that unit personnel could all ‘be regarded as toughened fighting men as well as skilled technical tradesmen’ is, perhaps, something of an exaggeration. Nevertheless, they arrived in Normandy equipped with Sten guns, rifles and pistols, knowing full well how to use and maintain them.

Other training included driving instruction on all the vehicles employed, and multiple practice ‘wet-shod’ landings – driving fully waterproofed vehicles down the ramp of an LCT into an average depth of three and a half feet of water and on to a beach.

Flight Sergeant Fulton Muir Adair later recalled this period, when the personnel of GCI 15082 were ‘subjected to continuous and rigorous training in wet landing procedures, combat exercises and anything else that assorted Admirals, Generals and Air Marshals could concoct’. He personally took courses in waterproofing vehicles, leading truck convoys, riding motorcycles and even sailing small vessels. Aircraftsman Archie Ratcliffe was an RAF driver with 16 Air Formations Signals. Ratcliffe describes travelling to Inveraray, in Scotland, and finding himself in a training camp for Commando units. ‘We were to be given intensive assault training and, believe me, they really gave us the works … We then moved to Troon in Ayrshire, where we did landing for two weeks, arriving off and on LCTs in various depths of water … We had training with Sten guns and hand guns.’

On exercise under canvas: Muir Adair and two other
members of 21 BDS

21 Base Defence Wing, which became 21 BDS in Normandy, was formed at RAF Church Fenton in January 1944. In April, they moved to RAF Sopley in Hampshire, ‘ensconced among some thousands of American troops’. Flight Lieutenant Ned Hitchcock recalled ‘strict discipline – no short cuts across open grass, everything camouflaged.’

The Americans were friendly, helpful and efficient. More deadly serious, equipment was issued – an American assault respirator, worn on the chest in a waterproof bag (destined to be a lifesaver!); supplies to make us completely independent for forty-eight hours (including three condoms!), and maps of the landing area showing fortifications and machine-gun sites.

At the same time, elements of the unit were sent to the RAF station at Old Sarum, Wiltshire, for another purpose. As all their vehicles were to make wet-shod landings, each had to be completely waterproofed so that it would run with its engine and gear-box submerged, and the contents of the technical vehicles had to be waterproofed too. Waterproof canvas bags were made to contain the equipment. Cracks in floors, window frames and doors were all coated with grease and sealant. The Old Sarum operation is another obscure but remarkable part of the D-Day story; ultimately, an army of more than 1,000 fitters waterproofed some 25,000 invasion vehicles at the base.

Much of the surviving evidence seems to indicate that 21 BDS were well prepared for their assigned role in Normandy. However, there was one particular oversight that was only remedied at the last moment. Until the final week of May, they relied on RAF station medical facilities, and it was only at the eleventh hour  that they were assigned a medical officer of their own. Rugby and Cambridge-educated and ‘very capable’, Flight Lieutenant Richard Rycroft arrived at 21 BDS on the 23rd. He had previously served as a squadron medical officer and lacked the experience of other unit personnel of ‘life under canvas’. Moreover, as he was only transferred two weeks before D-Day, there was no time for him to undergo the same rigorous amphibious warfare training.

Rycroft found the unit desperately short of medical supplies and promptly set about improving the situation. Initially, he was expecting to deploy to France with one of the follow-up 21 BDS elements. However, on 2 June, he was informed that the first echelon were concerned about their lack of medical support, and it had been decided that he should accompany them. As he later recorded, ‘I was given an hour in which to make arrangements and clear up my personal kit.’ He was assigned only the most limited transportation space, allowing him to take:

1 regimental medical pannier

1 reserve medical pannier

1 blood transfusion box

1 surgical haversack

1 medical companion (1)

2 stretchers

Multiplied several times over, these provisions would still have proved completely inadequate for the task that confronted Rycroft four days later.

Isolated from the outside world at Sopley, 21 BDS personnel were eventually briefed on the date of the Normandy operation, their landing craft, their planned date of sailing and their probable deployed locations if the initial amphibious landings went according to plan. They were scheduled to land mid-morning, after the first assault waves had gone in. By this time, the tide would have covered much of the beach, and the LCTs would therefore unload near the shingle bank. The vehicles and personnel of 21 BDS would thus have the minimum of exposed ground to cover. As we have seen, the expectation was that the beach would be securely held; gaps would have been cleared through the beach obstacles, and the exits opened. The relatively early landing reflected the importance attached to the establishment of operational GCI ashore at the earliest possible moment.

According to their own after-action report, it was originally planned that 21 BDS should land near the Colleville draw (numbered E-3 by the Americans), in the more easterly sector of the beach. The reason for this is unclear, as their objective for the day was to set up at a point some eight miles west of Omaha at St Pierre du Mont, near Pointe du Hoc, so that they could cover both American landing beaches. With the advantage of hindsight, this can only be described as a hugely ambitious goal, which reflected not only the RAF’s extensive preparations for rapid GCI deployment but also the extent to which German opposition was underestimated.

D-Day

The first echelon of 21 BDS embarked in five LCTs on 2 June 1944 at Portland, where they remained in harbour until the 4th. Early that morning, they set sail for the French coast but then turned back when Neptune was postponed because of the weather. They finally set out again at 0430 on the 5th and reached the Normandy coast soon after daybreak on D-Day. The sea voyage was completely without enemy interference, and enemy aircraft were conspicuous by their absence, but strong winds made for a rough crossing and sea-sickness was rife.

It was 1130 in the morning when 21 BDS first attempted to land. Their flotilla moved towards the beach, the vehicles, all with their engines running, ready to disembark when the ramps were lowered. However, as they closed on Omaha, it was observed to be under heavy machine gun and artillery fire. In the words of the official report, ‘it was obviously impracticable to land the convoy then.’ Two American patrol boats, which were controlling the movement of landing craft towards the beach, ordered them to withdraw.

Leading Aircraftsman John Cubitt was an RAF MT driver with 21 BDS, who was just 20 years old on 6 June 1944. He recalled waking up early on the morning of D-Day and witnessing the incredible sight of the invasion armada.

Every type of vessel from the largest battleship to the small amphibious lorries called DUKWs. Destroyers and similar vessels were dashing round ‘whoop-whooping’ on their sirens. They were using loud hailers to issue instructions. As the scheduled time for our disembarkation came and went and the destroyer activity increased with frenetic urgency, we suspected there was something of a ‘hiccup’ in the arrangements. We became aware that there was no movement on the beach.

Squadron Leader Norman Best, the technical officer responsible for the GCI equipment, got close enough to the beach to see that it was ‘littered with dead and wounded and the wrecked vehicles of our advance Beach Engineering party.’ Archie Ratcliffe likewise recalled that ‘The scene was terrible … There was heavy shelling and mortar fire, plus very heavy machine gun firing … The commander of our LCT told us that we were to delay going ashore.’

Padre Geoffrey Harding was on an LCT with the first echelon’s commanding officer, Wing Commander AM Anderson. As CO, Anderson had obviously expected to lead 21 BDS onto the beach. However, on the morning of D-Day, he was suffering from such chronic sea-sickness that he was in no fit state to do so. He asked Harding to take his place, while he moved back to the fourth or fifth vehicle. The padre readily accepted this commission but, after their landing was delayed, Anderson’s original plan was reinstituted.

Flight Lieutenant Ned Hitchcock described setting off from the middle of the invasion fleet under the direction of a patrol boat. As his LCT neared the beach, it became clear that it was not yet in Allied hands. ‘The men ashore were taking cover from enemy fire; there was a vehicle burning; as we watched, an explosion blew a figure high in the air.’ Onboard the LCT was an American observer, who possessed some experience of amphibious operations in the Mediterranean. ‘He assessed the situation and concluded that the last thing needed ashore at this stage was a collection of technicians armed with radar aerials. Rather relieved, we turned seaward, presuming we could land next day.’

One fundamental problem that confronted the Allies after the initial assault on Omaha was that command and control substantially broke down. Hardly any radios survived the assault intact, and virtually the only reports reaching General Omar Bradley’s headquarters ship, the USS Augusta, came from the fragmentary accounts of landing craft coxswains returning to reload their boats. A picture emerged of near-total disaster, and Bradley spent some time on D-Day contemplating the abandonment of Omaha and the transfer of his invasion forces to Gold and Utah. But withdrawal was not an option. It would have meant abandoning the troops who had already gone ashore, as well as jeopardising the entire Allied invasion plan by leaving a large gap in the beachhead. In truth, there was very little that Bradley could do. The key command decisions had to be taken further down the chain.

German gun emplacements at Vierville, sited to shoot
diagonally along Omaha beach

Inspection of the surviving gun emplacements on Omaha beach helps to explain why the Americans experienced such extreme difficulty suppressing the German defences on D-Day. Many of the German positions were designed to fire diagonally across the beach. The diagonal view narrowed the gap between targets, as compared with the perpendicular view, and (at Omaha) allowed the defenders to shoot directly behind the shingle bank, but this design also reduced the casemate’s vulnerability. The embrasure is the weakest point of an artillery casemate. If it faces outwards, the opponent’s fire can be directed straight into it. The Germans reasoned that it made more sense to design casemates to provide diagonal or ‘enfilading’ fire, and to hide and protect the embrasures with screening walls. Areas of the beach lying beyond the arc of fire from one casemate would be covered by another, covered by another, and so on. The guns in the eastern sector of Omaha mostly pointed west, while those in the west mostly pointed east. There was a large overlapping area between the Colleville and Les Moulins draws.

After the naval bombardment lifted and the beach assault began, the Allied destroyers patrolled the bay, their crews looking on as the first assault waves went in. It soon became obvious that the landing had run into ferocious opposition, but the destroyers at first suffered from the same lack of hard information that so handicapped Bradley and his staff. No fire control teams were functioning on the beach, and no targets were visible; any naval fire into the landing area would run a severe risk of hitting friendly forces.

This situation prevailed for about two hours after the first troops went ashore. From then on, individual destroyers began to close on the beach. The closer they came, the more they could see of the enemy defences. By narrowing the angle on the larger gun emplacements, they gained some visibility around the screening walls and began shooting into the embrasures. Finally, at 0950, all the destroyers in the bay were ordered to close on Omaha to the maximum extent possible to engage the enemy defenders at close range. Despite the absence of fire control from the beach, they played a crucial role in suppressing German resistance.

US naval bombardment of the D-1 draw at Vierville; the
church spire did not survive D-Day

Naval fire also gave a huge morale boost to the troops pinned down behind the shingle bank. Beyond this, however, the realisation spread among them that they had to move on from the bank and get off the beach. The original plan to advance inland had focused on the draws, but they were clearly impregnable. The only alternative was to go up the bluffs. The same basic conclusion was gradually reached by officers and NCOs along the whole expanse of Omaha. Acting on their own initiative, they changed the plan. Small teams formed up and began fighting their way forward, marking paths through the minefields as they went. When at last they reached the top of the bluffs, they fanned out to attack the German defences around the draws. One by one, after a desperate struggle, the resistance nests fell, but several beach exits remained firmly closed throughout the afternoon.

From their LCTs, the members of 21 BDS watched and waited. The unit report records how, ‘During this time, considerable shelling of the cliffs was being done by the Navy to try and silence the shore batteries that were established in the cliffs, continually shelling the beach. This went on right up to the time of landing.’ Ned Hitchcock was one of those who looked on as the naval guns pounded the shore. ‘We saw the Vierville clock tower destroyed (we later learned it was suspected of housing German artillery observers). Mercifully, we knew nothing of the desperate battle by the American infantry to gain a foothold.’

All the published accounts of the landings at Omaha on D-Day agree that, as the day wore on, the situation on the beach gradually improved. The German gunfire slackened somewhat. The infantrymen who so gallantly fought their way up the bluffs slowly pushed inland; the naval guns took a considerable toll on the defenders. And yet, to judge from the subsequent first-hand accounts left by members of 21 BDS, it seems possible that at least some of the German gunners held fire merely because they were short of targets. Moreover, if the threat from the gun positions along the beach was gradually being eliminated, the Germans still possessed the means to bring heavy indirect fire to bear from the batteries positioned inland.

By 1700, it was necessary to determine whether the 21 BDS landing would proceed or be postponed until D+1. Tidal conditions were presumably a factor in this decision. As the beach obstacles had not been cleared, landings with LCTs and vehicles at higher tide levels would have been very dangerous. As the tide was beginning to rise by 1700, further delay would have prevented 21 BDS from going ashore. Yet there were many other units that did not adhere to their original landing plans at Omaha on 6 June. Indeed, the various 21 BDS accounts maintain that there were no further landings at Les Moulins on D-Day after they went ashore, nor were there any on the morning of D+1.

It must therefore be assumed that they were ordered to land for operational reasons – because of the vital importance attached to the establishment of a night air defence capability in the lodgement area on D-Day. Recalling the statement of an LCT coxswain, Muir Adair described how ‘the Senior Royal Air Force Officer, “Officer Commanding Troops” ordered us in,’ although it is uncertain whether he was referring to the commanding officer of the first echelon, the CO of 21 BDS or a more senior RAF figure. Whoever was responsible, it is clear that the third factor in the decision to land was the notorious ‘fog of war’, manifested in this instance by the prevailing lack of reliable information about the true situation on the beach. Finally – critically – it was evidently not appreciated that the sand-bars that are a feature of Omaha beach would prevent the LCTs from unloading close enough to the tide line.

Les Moulins at low tide; 21 BDS came ashore in this
area, probably not long after the photograph was taken

A low-tide wet-shod landing just west of Les Moulins, showing
submerged vehicles and troops struggling in deep water

The flotilla was dispatched with three other craft carrying small tanks and armoured cars. Understandably enough, the 21 BDS personnel welcomed the promise of dry land and an end to their sea-sickness. Nevertheless, as John Cubitt put it, ‘We had the knowledge then, that relief of our present discomfort would only serve to put us at further risk. This situation, of course, was not exclusive to us but was shared by the whole invasion force.’ The official report records that, as they closed on the shore, they observed that they were heading towards the Les Moulins draw (numbered D-3) in the Dog Red sector of the beach rather than E-3, in the Easy Red sector, as originally planned. Many landing craft went off-course during the run-in to Omaha, but we cannot know whether 21 BDS was dispatched to Les Moulins deliberately or in error. What is certain is that this was originally the most heavily defended part of Omaha Beach.

Members of the unit now saw that Omaha was still under heavy shell fire from German artillery. ‘These guns had got the range of the beach and were consistently shelling the American vehicles which were lined up … and unable to get away as both exits were blocked.’

John Cubitt was driving the 21 BDS medical officer, Flight Lieutenant Rycroft, and recalled seeing the ramp go down and a naval sub-lieutenant up to his waist in water with a pole, testing the sea’s depth. ‘I was rather surprised to see columns of water rise here and there as shells burst around the ramp, not too near fortunately … I engaged four-wheel drive lowest gear and stamped on the accelerator. The engine must not stall under water … I now had the dubious honour of leading the column.’

On reaching the head of the beach I turned right. My way up the sand was through the debris of war. Bodies in various attitudes, radios, vehicles, rifles, equipment, tanks and half-tracks blown up as they left the boats, and I was leading a column of ‘soft’ vehicles into this carnage.

Cubitt and Rycroft were among the more fortunate 21 BDS members, in that they succeeded in driving ashore. For most, the sandbars proved insurmountable obstacles. The unit report continues: ‘Most of the craft were landed in about 4’3” of water so that immediately they struck a hole they were drowned.’ Such was the experience of Padre Harding, who recorded coming off an LCT some distance from the beach in fairly deep water, touching down and moving off. At first, the engine kept going. Then, his vehicle disappeared into a shell hole that had been covered by the rising tide. ‘I got out and found I could stand on the bottom with the water just up to my chin, while my driver, who was rather shorter than myself, took my hand and he swam and I waded ashore.’

This object is either the AMES Type 13 or 14 belonging to
21 BDS; in the background is the eastern shoulder of
the D-3 draw

Out of 27 vehicles unloaded by four LCTs, only eight actually made it to the beach. The fifth LCT hit a sandbank further out to sea and unloaded its vehicles into about four feet of water, but the depth increased to six feet almost immediately, so that they were all promptly submerged. Their occupants only saved themselves by scrambling onto the roofs of the various trucks. Muir Adair was unfortunate enough to be in the lead when this vessel unloaded, and swam ashore with all his personal equipment, including ‘a strange combination of gas mask and flotation devices issued by the Americans’. Corporal Bill Firby had orders to disembark on foot. He found that he was just within his depth, but was being pulled along the beach by the tide. He ultimately reached the shore about 200 yards further east, with just one other member of his unit. Remarkably, despite the distance to the shore, no personnel from this LCT were drowned.

Archie Ratcliffe and the 16 Air Formation Signals personnel apparently landed ahead of the other first echelon LCTs, and he made it to the beach in his Crossley truck, only to be halted by a large crater – an old shell hole or a hole left by a mine. He clambered out to find himself surrounded by ‘utter carnage’, abandoned the Crossley and took cover at the top of the beach below the bluffs. A few other members of his unit dug in close by, but they made several forays back into the open to retrieve the wounded. It was from this location that Ratcliffe subsequently observed the RAF LCTs.

They were getting a hell of a beating … We could see them trying to get off the beach with their vehicles, but [they] were getting heavily mortared and machine gunned. We knew they were getting casualties and losing vehicles.

In the end, the basic Type 15 GCI elements arrived safely on the beach – the aerial transmitter, two diesels, a crane, communications support, a jeep and four Crossleys and some other vehicles and equipment items were later salvaged. Nevertheless, the materiel losses were very high and included the AMES Type 11, 13 and 14. The Type 14 was later salvaged but could ‘only be regarded as a source of spares’.

Moreover, the vehicles on the beach quickly came under fire. Adair described the beach being ‘carefully and systematically plastered square by square by the Hun’. It seemed that the only shelter was offered by the Les Moulins draw, but, on approaching it, 21 BDS were confronted by a solid barrier of earth some five or six feet high. Their trucks and trailers were lined up right in front of the draw along with such American vehicles as had come ashore with them, but there was no way off the beach.

Inevitably, the relentless shelling took its toll. According to Firby, the Germans ‘obviously could see what they were shelling as they hit many trucks and troop concentrations.’ If they no longer had gun positions on the beach, they still had observers in contact with the inland artillery. Wing Commander Anderson, the Commanding Officer, was shot in the arm and apparently played little further part in the unfolding events. His deputy, Squadron Leader Frederick Trollope, took over. Subsequently awarded the Military Cross, his citation reads:

His courage and devotion to duty in organising the many parties of his unit on the beach, which was under intense fire, and arranging the safe conduct of his men and vehicles, as well as organising the evacuation of the wounded, were of a high order. In addition to this work, Squadron Leader Trollope carried out his nominal duties throughout the night and was mainly responsible for the successful operation of his unit under great difficulties. All his duties involved continual movement over the beaches and reconnaissance into enemy territory under fire. He displayed great leadership and courage.

John Cubitt described seeing one of the 21 BDS airmen ‘lying on his face, his toes beating an agonised tattoo in the sand. An American spoke to Cubitt about the situation before moving away and sheltering by a truck. ‘Shortly afterward, I saw him slide slowly to the ground, his head bleeding on the wheel rim. He was dead.’ Further down the line, Cubitt saw Squadron Leader Victor Harrison with his foot blown off. He was being assisted by Flight Lieutenant Douglas Highfield, who then heard another incoming shell and threw himself on top of the wounded man. He was killed by the explosion. Highfield was the only 21 BDS officer to lose his life on Omaha beach on D-Day. Adair meanwhile stumbled on the body of one of his young radar operators who had lost an entire arm. Further west, he saw a bulldozer pushing wreckage aside to clear an exit, but then the driver was hit by enemy fire and tumbled off. ‘Another combat engineer climbed up, moved the bulldozer a few feet, and also took a hit. The bulldozer stopped.’

Like so many others, Bill Firby ran for the shingle bank. He saw many American troops lying along the shingle, and called out to them asking what was going on. There was no response. He called out again to no effect. Finally, he crossed the last few yards of sand and reached the bank; it was only then that he realised they were all dead.

Destroyed Crossley and Austin trucks of 21 BDS on Omaha

The official report records that several 21 BDS vehicles were destroyed by German shellfire. ‘This beach was more or less deserted except for the fact that there were American wounded who had been lying about since the first assault.’ Such was the situation that confronted Flight Lieutenant Rycroft and his orderly, LAC John Reid. Rycroft described graphically how little protection was truly afforded by Omaha’s shingle bank, where the majority of casualties were incurred by men lying down or dug into shallow foxholes. The American troops who had been wounded in the early morning assault had only received elementary first aid, and some, after twelve hours in the open, were severely shocked. Although slightly wounded himself, Rycroft set to work. ‘Their dressings were checked and measures taken to keep them warm,’ but no American medical units could be found.

Troops sheltering behind the shingle bank at low tide, west
of the D-3 draw

Troops in foxholes behind the shingle bank

The concept of divine intervention is not one that regularly features in military history. Nevertheless, more than one source confirms that Padre Harding played a central role in the subsequent course of events. Archie Ratcliffe recalled him ‘walking about the whole of the time, comforting the wounded and giving the last rights to the wounded and the dead, to both RAF and Americans’, and he also assisted Rycroft, who wrote in his report that ‘The Unit Padre did a Medical Officer’s work under very difficult conditions.’ 

However, Harding’s chief recollection was that ‘it came to me very strongly, indeed, almost as though a voice spoke in my ear, that we must get off that beach at all costs and take refuge under the shadow of the cliffs.’ According to Cubitt, Harding ‘saw that there was a road out blocked by a bank of shingle … Somewhere or other he found an armoured bulldozer and got the driver to doze away the bank.’ This may perhaps have been the same vehicle that Adair had previously observed. Best’s recollection was that the bulldozer ‘bit into our earth barrier as nonchalantly as only a bulldozer can, and in a matter of minutes we were free and on the move.’

A bulldozer in action at high tide at the D-3 draw; despite
the Herculean efforts of the combat engineers, the exits
remained closed until the evening of D-Day

The Les Moulins draw was open, but where were 21 BDS to go? A reconnaissance was clearly needed to ensure that they were not merely plucked out of the frying pan and tossed into the fire. Among those who went forward were Harding, Best and Flight Sergeant Reuben Eckersall. They were presumably accompanied by several more armed men. When they found a suitable house, where there was an open courtyard, its German occupants fled. Harding duly returned to the beach and reported that Les Moulins was not under fire and provided at least some cover. The acting commander, Squadron Leader Trollope, had then to assemble the widely dispersed members of 21 BDS, ordering them to make their way to the exit. According to the official report, ‘For the next two hours, all personnel who were not wounded were employed at the exit of the beach, helping either to pull out some of the vehicles from the sea with a bulldozer that had now arrived on the scene, or with carrying wounded, both our own and the Americans, off the beach.’

Harding recalled waving 21 BDS forwards. ‘Somehow, we got off the beach, and got our wounded off too.’ Ratcliffe remembered how the padre moved them off the beach to a concentration area, and Firby described him calling out to them, ‘This way boys,’ and guiding them to relative safety, through the gap and the barbed wire behind it. He was ‘amazingly calm and assured’.

The official report then records how 21 BDS moved up to Les Moulins. The wounded presented the greatest challenge. A radio van emptied of equipment provided a makeshift ambulance that carried thirty of them up to the hamlet in relays. There, they were laid out in gardens or beside the road. Thirty more were placed in a German artillery position about four feet deep and affording protection from anything except a direct hit.

Together with Reid and Harding, Rycroft spent the hours of darkness moving from one wounded man to the next, adjusting bandages and applying dressings to wounds that had not been discovered in the early hours of the landing. He expected many of his patients to die but actually lost just three, and he would later express amazement at ‘the number of patients who survived after severe wounds, long periods in the open under very noisy and terrifying conditions, and with only elementary first aid and anti-shock measures.’

His limited medical supplies were soon exhausted, but a considerable amount of American kit was recovered, and the Americans also carried far better personal first aid packs than the British. According to Harding, they found an American truck full of medical stores that had got stranded in a ditch: ‘We got a lot of valuable stuff for the use of our doctor.’ The rest of the unit spent the night lying on the edge of the road at the entrance to the hamlet, where in most places there was a low wall that supplied at least some shelter from periodic German artillery fire.

Many members of 21 BDS would have spent at least some time that night contemplating the fact that they had been unable to fulfil their primary mission on the night of 6 June – for eminently understandable reasons. It is thus not surprising that the official report records the Luftwaffe’s minimal and insignificant appearance in the form of six aircraft, believed to be Ju 88s, which dropped just two bombs on the beach and lost one of their number to naval anti-aircraft fire in the process. Ratcliffe witnessed the raid and recorded that the noise was incredible, ‘not only from Jerry but from all the halftracks, machine guns and anti-aircraft guns that the Yanks had got ashore. All the boats at sea were joining in as well. The amount of shrapnel that was falling was unbelievable. It just showered down.’

Such was the experience of most 21 BDS personnel on the afternoon and evening of 6 June 1944. Inevitably, however, there were individuals who became separated from the unit, and one of these was Muir Adair. When he reached the shingle bank, Adair could find no other unit personnel – only some American Rangers and a few sailors. Inspecting them, he noted that there were no officers or NCOs, and he was told that rank insignia had been removed on-board ship to reduce the threat from German snipers. ‘No one had told me about this rather disturbing problem,’ he recalled later, ‘and so, with all my stripes and golden crowns shining out for all to see, and whether I liked it or not, I was apparently in charge.’ Under increasingly heavy fire – and like so many other NCOs who took charge at Omaha on D-Day – he decided to get off the beach.

I jumped to my feet, grabbed a carbine lying nearby (my Sten gun was lost with the truck), shouted ‘Let’s get out of here’, scrambled across the loose shingle, over the embankment, across some grass, and tumbled into a trench that ran parallel to the beach, my rag-tag group of lost souls following close behind.

After a few minutes, they climbed out of the trench and zig-zagged across gently rising terrain until they reached another, firing indiscriminately at anything ahead of them and driving out several German soldiers. Next, under fire, they moved on to a third trench, where they found more Rangers under the command of a lieutenant. Four of Adair’s motley assortment of troops had fallen, but he had somehow acquired a medic and a naval petty officer. ‘As it was now quite dark and we apparently had no place to go anyhow, the lieutenant suggested that we take a breather and hunker down for the night.’

D-Day was at an end, but the chaos of the Omaha landings would take several days to iron out. Fortunately for 21 BDS, elements of the US 116th division had made considerably more progress in the adjacent - so-called ‘Easy’ - sector of the beach by attacking up the bluffs. Subsequently, they advanced across open fields towards St Laurent. During the afternoon, engineers opened the E-1 draw, and vehicles began to move inland. By nightfall, the Americans were in firm control of the area between E-1 and D-3.

D+1

Daybreak on 7 June brought further sniping and more casualties, fortunately none of them serious. Trollope decided to reconnoitre forward, partly to find more cover and partly to move 21 BDS off the road, where they would be blocking vehicles arriving from the beach. However, he subsequently decided against any relocation after one of his subordinates, Flight Lieutenant Effenberger, reported heavy fire between Les Moulins and the next village – St Laurent.

Their difficulties were exacerbated by a further problem that was all too common on both sides during the Normandy campaign – combat identification. At some stage before D-Day, in Adair’s words, ‘some obscure officer of field rank, at an equally obscure HQ somewhere in never-never land … had issued an order that we were to go ashore in Air Force blues. In Combined Ops we wore khaki but in a holding camp, just before “D-Day”, we were ordered to exchange our uniforms for blues.’ In a combat environment, worn, dirty or dust-covered, RAF blue quickly assumed an appearance close to German field grey, ‘particularly in the eyes of American Rangers, who had never previously seen an Air Force type.’ It soon became clear that some of the small-arms fire being directed towards 21 BDS came from the US Army. After a short time, most members of the unit were re-clothed in American uniforms.

By mid-morning, with German artillery again bombarding the beach, Trollope decided he could delay no longer. After a further reconnaissance, 21 BDS moved about three-quarters of a mile inland and pulled into a field. The sniping continued, but no one was hit. Finally, at about 2 PM, they were approached by an American intelligence officer from the 49th Anti-Aircraft Artillery Brigade. On the orders of his commanding officer, Brigadier General EW Timberlake, he advised them to move to Transit Area 2, above the eastern slope of the draw. In the words of the 21 BDS report, ‘This was the first official contact of any sort that had been made with the Americans since landing.’

The unit relocated almost immediately, heading through St Laurent, where a fire-fight was still in progress, and doubling back east into the fields overlooking the beach. The transit area was crowded and noisy owing to the continuing artillery duel between the Germans and the naval vessels offshore, but they managed to find room to dig foxholes where they could sleep.

US troops advanced up the bluffs between D-3 and E-1 before pushing inland
towards St Laurent; Transit Area 2 was established in the fields to the west,
overlooking the beach

Although resistance around Les Moulins continued, the American advance
cut off the Germans in the beach area and shielded units like 21 BDS from
potential counter-attacks from St Laurent

Rycroft had meanwhile toiled throughout the night to provide medical aid to the wounded under the worst possible working conditions. Early on the morning of 7 June, he went off in search of water and stumbled on three US medical orderlies in a trench. ‘They had apparently left their first aid post in the village during the previous evening, discretion being the better part of valour.’ They now emerged and worked with their British counterparts throughout the morning, giving plasma transfusions to some twelve selected cases while Rycroft attended to sixteen American soldiers who had been found sheltering behind a wall.

At midday, several US medical officers arrived and informed Rycroft that a clearing hospital had been established further down the beach. They had been entirely ignorant of the situation in the Dog Red sector and were apparently surprised by the number of casualties. During the afternoon, the wounded were moved off to the hospital, using such vehicles as could be pressed into service. All the serious cases were evacuated back to England that night. According to Rycroft’s MC citation, he tended to some 75 US casualties on 6 and 7 June as well as the 21 BDS wounded.

Labouring with no less determination throughout this period was Squadron Leader Norman Best. Together with the other unit technical officers, he is said to have ‘worked unceasingly, salvaging equipment of all sorts from the beaches, ranging from vehicles down to small items of serviceable equipment from derelict vehicles.’ Best himself described how, after a few hours’ sleep, he led his men back to the beach despite the continued shelling and sniping, and ‘did a bit of salvaging and with the aid of our friend the bulldozer managed to pull out two submerged diesel vehicles of the Type 11.’

One of ours had been hit – indeed, all our vehicles had been more or less damaged on the beach, and standby diesels seemed very desirable additions to our convoy. We also salvaged the Type 14 aerial vehicle, which had stuck in the sands and suffered from sea water damage.

That evening, Trollope discussed the situation with Timberlake, who allegedly ‘had the radar outlook’ and wanted functional GCI protection as soon as possible. Best advised that they could establish a basic capability if a suitable site could be found, and the general therefore directed them to set up their equipment in an adjacent field overlooking the beach. They occupied this new position on the afternoon of 8 June and declared the AMES Type 15 operational on the 9th. It was, however, ‘in a parlous state and ... riddled with holes in the transmitter, receiver and aerial system’. The 21 BDS signals equipment was so seriously depleted that they were at first entirely dependent on a ground-to-air VHF channel for reporting and other surface-to-surface communication.

Throughout this period, the military situation was extremely precarious, and the beachhead was no more than two or three miles deep. However, during the 9th, there was a marked improvement. German resistance collapsed in the immediate area and US forces pushed inland. Effective command and control was gradually established at Omaha, and it was against this background that a signal arrived at the end of the afternoon ordering 21 BDS to pack up and deploy to their planned site, which was now in American hands. Leaving only their Wing Operations element behind in anticipation of the arrival of the second 21 BDS echelon, they moved successfully on the 10th and set up their equipment in a matter of hours to provide GCI for Allied night-fighters over the American sector of the lodgement area for the first time since D-Day. That night, they claimed one enemy aircraft destroyed and one damaged.

The second echelon of 21 BDS landed at Omaha soon afterwards, while the third came ashore at Utah Beach on the 23rd. The drowned and destroyed equipment abandoned on D-Day was promptly replaced. Indeed, the official monograph states that ‘meticulous care had been taken … over the provision of adequate reserves of technical vehicles and equipment for the speedy replacement of losses … The radio technical vehicles were waiting, fully waterproofed, to be called forward and only required shipping across the Channel to make good the losses experienced in this disastrous landing.’

Conclusion

The first echelon of 21 BDS – including the 16 Air Formation Signals element – lost one officer and nine ORs killed at Omaha on 6 June 1944. Apart from the single officer, Flight Lieutenant Highfield, four of the ORs were RAF and five were Army. Another RAF aircraftsman subsequently died from his wounds. Five officers and 31 ORs were wounded. Apart from Anderson and Harrison, and an RAF pilot officer, the wounded officers were Captain Rowley, Royal Artillery, and a US liaison officer, Lieutenant Barnes. Overall, the first echelon’s casualty rate was 25 per cent – much higher than expected.

For their heroism, leadership and devotion to duty during the 21 BDS landing, Trollope, Best, Harding and Rycroft were all awarded Military Crosses. It is believed that this is the only occasion in history when four RAF service personnel from one unit have been awarded MCs on the basis of their participation in a single action. Eckersall and Reid both received Military Medals. Regrettably, it has not been possible to establish whether any equivalent awards were bestowed on any of the Army contingent.

Although Muir Adair courageously led an assortment of American servicemen off the beach while under fire, he was not among the medals, possibly because the action was not witnessed by any other 21 BDS personnel, but he was later awarded the Croix de Guerre. More surprising, perhaps, is that Highfield’s supreme act of self-sacrifice was not posthumously recognised in any way.

There were certain very obvious flaws in the 21 BDS plan, notably in their belated and inadequate medical support provisions and in the higher command decision that they should wear a uniform that could be mistaken for German field grey. Nevertheless, in all probability, if they had beached at Omaha on D+1 or 2, their first echelon would have come ashore without any casualties and with their vehicles and equipment substantially intact.

Any concise explanation for the disaster that befell this unit on 6 June 1944 must focus primarily on the related issues of command, control, communications and intelligence. Effective command decisions must be informed by intelligence, which is invariably relayed by functional communications. At Omaha on D-Day, the debacle on the beach was enough to reduce shore to ship communication to minimal levels, and commanders were thus denied the intelligence they needed to make rational decisions that reflected the true situation on land. They also lacked an adequate understanding of the low-tide beach topography. And so, on the basis that 21 BDS might establish a functional GCI capability on the evening of D-Day, they were committed to an unplanned low-tide landing on to a beach that was under heavy fire and from which there could be no forward movement in conventional wheeled vehicles, as the exits were all blocked.

Once committed to the chaos and carnage of Omaha, the personnel of 21 BDS were confronted not by the challenge they had planned for or expected, but by a desperate struggle to stay alive until the battle for the beach was won. In this unenviable situation, we may surmise that their pre-D-Day commando training was of paramount importance and that, without it, their casualties would have been much higher. Their personnel went ashore with at least some understanding of survival under fire and they were led by officers who soon grasped that they were all doomed if they remained behind the shingle bank. Indeed, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that the arrival of a small and cohesive group of officers who were prepared to take command decisions played a vital role in opening the Les Moulins draw – a tactical action with a significance that extended right across the Dog Red and (adjacent ) Easy Green sectors of Omaha.

To a great extent, the Allied victory in the Normandy campaign was based on their overwhelming logistical superiority. There were numerous occasions when seemingly heavy losses of vehicles and equipment were made good in a matter of days – if not hours – from prepared reserves in the UK. Moreover, the cross-channel reinforcement task was for the most part far quicker and easier than the drawn-out overland resupply and reinforcement process that confronted the Germans, which was complicated still further by the ever-present threat from Allied air power. Hence, the 21 BDS story represents something of a microcosm of the broader Allied experience. It is not known whether their manpower losses caused any particular difficulties in the aftermath of the D-Day landings, but their rapid re-equipment allowed them to recover much of their operational capability within a week or so and to fulfil their intended night-air defence role over American forces in the Allied lodgement area.

(1) Medical Companion: a standard medical officer’s case of treatments, dressings and basic equipment.

Sources

21 Base Defence Wing Operations Record Book TNA Air 26/40

Air Historical Branch, The Second World War, 1939-1945, Royal Air Force: Signals Volume IV, Radar in Raid Reporting (Official monograph, 1950)

Air Historical Branch, The Second World War, 1939-1945, Royal Air Force: Signals Volume V, Fighter Control and Interception (Official monograph, 1952)

Air Historical Branch, The Liberation of North West Europe Volume III, The Landings in Normandy (unpublished post-war official narrative).

SC Rexford-Welch (ed.), Medical History of the Second World War: The Royal Air Force Medical Services Volume III, Campaigns (HMSO, London, 1958).

Historical Division, US Army War Department, Omaha Beachhead (6 June-13 June 1944) (War Department Historical Division, Washington, 1945).

Report on the Co-ordination and Control by FDT 217 in Operation "Overlord", by Squadron Leader WY Craig, 23 June 1944 (contained in Notes on the Planning and Preparation of the Allied Expeditionary Air Force for the Invasion of North West France in June 1944, Appendices to Chapters I-IV, AHB).

RAF Medal Award and Citation Lists, Air Historical Branch

RAF Casualty Lists, Air Historical Branch

http://www.therafatomahabeach.com/