UC Law alumnus and WWII veteran Ed Burke shares how he survived the Normandy invasion

Ed Burke, a 1948 graduate of the University of Cincinnati College of Law, served in the United States Army. This story is one of many featured in the Legacy of Courage book series by Cheryl Popp and Peter Bronson. It is shared with their permission.  

More than 70 years have passed, but Ed Burke still cannot speak about what he saw at Omaha Beach during the Normandy invasion. The words die in his throat, choked by scars and pain. “I still sort of break up when I talk about that,” he said, dipping his head to wipe reddened eyes. “I get emotional.”

One young man who died there still reminds him that death in battle is random and indifferent: First Lieutenant Joseph Phillipson.

“We had just landed and took turns leading. He was my youngest platoon commander, and it was his turn. He was a good-looking kid from California. We were going through hedgerows and one of the men stepped on a Bouncing Betty mine. It killed Joe and his staff sergeant. But another man with them survived. It just blew his shirt off and he wasn’t touched. Somehow he was protected.”

"We were getting a terrible beating in North Africa. We were completely outmatched by the Germans’ Tiger and Panther tanks. They decided we needed something to combat those tanks so in August of 1942 they opened the Tank Destroyer School at Camp Hood, Texas.”

 Their motto and mission was to “SEEK, STRIKE and DESTROY” enemy tanks.

 “One of the Tank Destroyer battalions needed a man, so they grabbed me and I went to Europe with the 29th Infantry. Our motto was ‘Let’s Go.’”

Burke finds it hard to talk about his landing at Omaha Beach, but it was described in the 29th Infantry Division’s history:

Landing craft hung up on underwater obstacles, hit mines, blew up. German automatic weapons poured deadly cross-fire on the men climbing from the boats. Some threw away their helmets, rifles and leaped into the water in an effort to save themselves.

Those blasted into the water tugged at their equipment, tried to reach shore. Some drowned. Others were hit while struggling to reach the beach. Gaining the beach, some turned back and splashed into the water up to their necks for protection. Concertina and double apron fence crisscrossed the flat beach. Mines were buried in the sand. Mortar fire was deadly; 88s, set in the side of the cliff, were zeroed in on the landings.

“Hell, men,” said Gen. Cota, Asst. Div. Commander, to the men crouching on the sand. “We're getting killed here on the beach. We might as well go a little farther in and get killed there!” Small groups crept forward a few yards, then on further until they reached the protecting cover of the cliff.

After the landing, Capt. Burke and his tank destroyer company of 175 to 200 men fought their first battles as they moved three or four miles inland. “We fought our way through seven or eight villages leading up to St. Lo..."

St. Lo was a key crossroads, and had been so heavily bombed during the D-Day invasion it was called the “City of Ruins.” During the attack, part of the 29th Infantry Division became trapped and surrounded, running out of ammunition, food and medical supplies, earning the name “The Lost Battalion.”

The battle began on July 9. “We finally captured St. Lo on July 30, and all that time we were in artillery range,” Burke said.

Burke fought with the 29th Infantry through a series of battles in small French towns and finally reached the banks of the Roer River, across from the town of Julich, which was named for Julius Caesar and the ancient Roman fortification there. While the U.S. assault was delayed by the German breakout at the Battle of the Bulge, Burke was sent to scout behind enemy lines for the eventual attack across the river that would capture Julich and pave the way across the Rhine and deep into Germany.

“I had to go over in advance to find out where I could put my tank destroyers to protect our infantry from German tanks and guns. We had a Piper Cub airplane and a friend of mine was the pilot. We would fly up and down the Roer. If we got too high, the German pursuit planes could shoot us down. Too low and their infantry could shoot us down.”

Someone had to go across the river into German-held territory and look over the terrain on foot. “Since I was the senior captain of the line companies, I was to lead our M-10s over the tank bridge and make sure we would not get bogged down in marshy ground.”

 The Roer was swollen by rains and damage to a dam upriver. Before dawn on the rainy morning of Feb. 23, 1945, Capt. Burke climbed into a tiny rowboat and was taken across the river by two soldiers. “They rowed me across and dropped me off so I could find out how far we could go over there and what the land was like. Our artillery had pounded the area for two weeks and I prayed that all the landmines had been destroyed. My great concern was that I would step on a mine. It was dark and I couldn’t use a flashlight. I was scared to death of that.

 “When I got across I found a partially destroyed church that gave me some protection, and I could see where my tank destroyers had to go. The church reminded me of the Jesuit fathers and faculty and students at home who prayed for soldiers. I had been praying ever since I started crossing the Roer. I was sure they were praying for me and I gave a sigh of relief. I thought if I could just get us there, I had it made.”

 But the Germans had other plans. On his return trip he was about to cross a bridge when he encountered some American soldiers escorting three German prisoners. One of the Germans suddenly dropped a live grenade, killing two of the prisoners and wounding the troops, including a Life Magazine photographer who captured the whole thing on film.

 Then as he attempted to cross back on a foot bridge, stepping over the body of a dead American soldier, a German mortar round cut the bridge in half. “I had a heck of a time getting off it. I was halfway across when the mortar hit. My men had to throw me a rope and they pulled me across until I could wade to shore.”