Where the Birds Never Sing

Jack Sacco

• Publisher: Harper
• Year: 2011
• ISBN:
  9780062111999
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World War II
• Index: History

The inspiring story of Joe Sacco and his part in the greatest battles of World War II, from Omaha Beach to the liberation of the concentration camp at Dachau, Germany.

In his riveting debut, Where the Birds Never Sing, Jack Sacco recounts the realistic, harrowing, at times horrifying, and ultimately triumphant tale of an American GI in World War II. Told through the eyes of his father, Joe Sacco—a farm boy from Alabama who was flung into the chaos of Normandy and survived the terrors of the Bulge—this is no ordinary war story. As part of the 92nd Signal Battalion and Patton's famed 3rd Army, Joe and his buddies found themselves at the forefront—often in front of the infantry or behind enemy lines—of the Allied push through France and Germany.

After more than a year of fighting, but still only twenty years old, Joe was a hardened veteran, but nothing could have prepared him for the horrors behind the walls of Germany's infamous Dachau concentration camp. Joe and his buddies were among the first 250 American troops into the camp, and it was there that they finally grasped the significance of the Allied mission.

Surrounded and pursued by death and destruction, they not only found the courage and the will to fight, they discovered the meaning of friendship and came to understand the value and fragility of life. Told from the perspective of an ordinary soldier, Where the Birds Never Sing contains first-hand accounts and never-before published photos documenting one man's transformation from farm boy to soldier to liberator.

PART III

Days of Battle

When the great day of battle comes, remember your training. And remember, above all, that speed and vigor of attack are the sure roads to success and that you must succeed. To retreat is as cowardly as it is fatal.

Battle is not a terrifying ordeal to be endured. It is a magnificent experience wherein all of the elements that have made man superior to the beasts are present. Courage, self-sacrifice, loyalty, help to others, and devotion to duty. As you go in, you will perhaps be a little short of breath, and your knees may tremble. This breathlessness, this tremor—they are not fear. It is simply the excitement which every athlete feels just before the whistle blows. No, you will not fear, for you will be borne up by proud instinct and inspired by magnificent hate.

—GENERAL GEORGE S. PATTON

10

Normandy

Aboard the Transport Vessel Philip F. Thomas
English Channel
June 12, 1944

We awoke beneath skies once again darkened by Allied planes as the Philip F. Thomas steamed toward France alongside hundreds of other ships. Some boats seemed to be sailing so close together that a determined soldier could have jumped from one to another until he crossed the entire fleet. Gunships, battleships, transport ships, troopships, gigantic and small, fast and lumbering, all covered with soldiers, all making their way to the battle with purpose and pride. For a farm boy from Alabama, it was an impressive sight, seeing this great and historic armada in full stride.

Other than what we had read in the Stars and Stripes (which wasn’t much), we were unsure of what had happened to the preceding waves of troops, and therefore unsure of what might be awaiting us. We were sure, however, that the time for jokes, false bravado, and loud talk had passed. Most of the guys now quietly measured the seconds by writing or praying as the ship plowed through the smooth gray waters of the English Channel, bringing us ever closer to the opposite shore and our date with destiny.

A priest carefully worked his way through the jumbled crowd of men, stopping here and there to say a prayer and give blessings for battle. He climbed up on the foremost part of the superstructure, sprinkled some holy water, and blessed us all. Even guys who weren’t Catholic were doing their best to make the sign of the cross.

I pulled out the crucifix Grandpa Sacco had given me and held it in my hand. I said some prayers that God would watch over me and all the boys in our company and that we would have victory. I was saying the Hail Mary when Silverman pointed off the bow of the ship. “Look,” he said. “There it is.” There, rising into view from beyond the horizon, was the coast of France.

With Normandy within sight, the ships of the convoy began the long process of slowing to a stop. Some of the sailors were lowering heavy fishnet ropes over the sides of the boat when we heard a series of loud explosions. Three of the ships, drifting to a stop in the Channel, had hit mines. Water, smoke, and debris were sent high into the air as the vessels jerked and recoiled, then convulsed in the water. Huge waves rippling from the explosions tossed nearby boats back and forth, up and down. Two of the stricken ships were a good distance off port side, the other about half a mile starboard, so it was hard to assess the damage from where we were. Each was far enough away not to pose an immediate threat to us. Yet each was close enough to be a sobering reminder that this was no training mission.

Once the anchor was dropped and our ship was at a standstill, Captain English, the commander of Company A, gave us the order to start loading into the landing crafts, known as Higgins boats, bobbing in the water below. The rectangular boats were made of wood, and each could hold about three dozen soldiers, along with a three-man crew. While I was waiting my turn to go, a lieutenant from the 92nd named Shanahan put his hand on my shoulder. “Just want to say…nice to have met you, Sacco,” he said with resignation in his voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I turned and asked.

“Lieutenant Shanahan here thinks we’re all gonna get killed today,” Spotted Bear pointed out.

“Just wanted to say that it was nice to have known you, that’s all,” Shanahan repeated. He looked toward the beach. “We probably won’t make it.”

“Like hell!” I said, tightening the straps on my pack. “I ain’t planning on dying today or no day soon. I’m here to fight a damn war and then go home!”

“Yeah.” Shanahan sighed, slowly shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Sacco.”

“Damn, Lieutenant,” piped an irritated Cardini. “Think you could be a little more optimistic? Jesus Christ!”

Climbing over the railing was no small task, considering the steel helmet, fifty-pound backpack, loaded carbine, and extra ammunition. The adrenaline surge of the moment, plus the not-so-gentle nudging of some guy’s helmet on my butt, helped me clear the railing itself and swing down the other side into the netting. As I looked into the boats far below us—and the first reaction of all the guys was to stop and look down before proceeding—I saw some boys getting their feet tangled up in the webbing, flipping upside down, and hanging there. They flailed about, the weight of their gear pulling them backward off the ropes, as other heavy-laden soldiers tried to right them.

I was careful of every step, making sure my foot was secure on each rope before I put my full weight on it. It wasn’t as easy as it seemed, because the whole apparatus was undulating with the cascade of men. The ropes would be one place when I looked down at them, then someplace else when I moved, making it very easy to step completely through the net and flip upside down.

To make a difficult situation worse, Averitt was right alongside me and was, as usual, talking. “You think the krauts can shoot us from here? Sons of bitches. I mean, hell, we can see the shore, so that means they can sure as hell see us. Whataya think? ’Cause they probably have high-powered rifles with high-powered scopes on them. Whataya think, Sacco?” I ignored him and moved on down the ropes.

Once I arrived in the landing craft, I went as far to the back as possible and lay down. I heard Duthie’s voice. “Whatcha doin’ back here, Sacco?”

“Layin’ down.”

“Yeah. Why? Seasick?”

“I figure fewer bullets can hit me this way.”

In an instant Duthie, Averitt, Silverman, Cardini, and Chandler were lying beside me. Once full, our craft slowly pulled away from the ship, and we began the final journey to shore. I could see only whatever was directly above me—a series of dramatic clouds lingering from recent storms, under which was passing that relentless blanket of aircraft. Sarge’s face did enter my field of vision at one point. He looked down at those of us horizontal, shook his head, and moved on.

The Higgins boats weren’t exactly a smooth, comfortable, or quiet ride. Many of the boys—at least the ones who were standing—were getting seasick. The ride went on for some time. It didn’t seem like the shore had been this far away when we scaled down the side of the ship. Then again, the longer it took to get there, the better.

Looking up into the passing sky, I had the feeling that I was completely lost and alone. I can never remember being so scared in my whole life, yet so quiet inside, so deep in thought. It’s hard to describe what goes through one’s mind at a time like this. I couldn’t help but think of lots of things I wished I’d said and done before I left home. Of course, I thought about Mama and Papa and wondered if they knew where I was or what I was about to go through. And I thought about Grandpa Sacco and wondered if he was watching over me now. I pulled the silver cross from my pocket and again clutched it tightly to my chest.

“Ready to get off the damn boat!” yelled the sailor piloting the landing craft. As we scrambled to our feet, the boat came to an abrupt halt, as if we had hit something. The large iron front wall of the craft swung down, crashing into the water and sand below. Before us was a place the French called Calvados, a place we had code-named Omaha Beach. We were still about forty yards from the beach itself, but this seemed to be as close as we were going to get.

I put the cross back in my pocket, tightened the strap on my helmet, and then made sure all of my equipment was secured and ready. From the landing craft, we could see the immense amount of activity on the beachhead. Groups of soldiers were running in the direction of the smoky cliffs in the distance as trucks, jeeps, and tanks barreled along in the sand, some columns moving away from the water, others toward it. Sporadic gunfire and explosions pierced through the crashing of the waves. Some vehicles lay destroyed and smoldering on the beach. Others were partially submerged in the water, never having made it to shore. Landing craft of all sizes and shapes were unloading soldiers and equipment everywhere and then returning to the vast armada farther out in the Channel to pick up another load. And above it all were the planes.

“I said get the hell off!” demanded the sailor. Some of the guys up front ran down the gate and into the shallow water. They waded kneedeep for a few steps as the rest of us crowded toward the exit. Suddenly the ones in front completely disappeared beneath the waves.

“Oh, shit!” yelled the sailor. “Shit! Get the hell back on the boat!” We pulled back into the landing craft with record speed. Those submerged had to fight the weight of their gear in order to keep from drowning. A few struggled back into the shallows under their own power. The rest, including Spotted Bear, were pulled to safety by nearby comrades.

Once we were all safely back on the craft, the sailor shut the gate and put the engines in reverse. “Everybody here?” Sergeant Thomas asked as he counted.

“Shit!” the sailor repeated aloud. “Fucking sandbar! That’s the third time that’s happened!” He then steered the boat to the left, thrust forward, and pulled closer to the beach. The gate splashed down again. This time we were only a few feet from the shore.

“Go!” he yelled. “Get the hell out!”

Spotted Bear, near the front, was still gasping for air, trying to shake off water, heavy in his uniform. Most of the guys up there were the ones who had fallen into the water, so they were moving with a bit of caution.

“I said to get the hell off this fucking boat!” screamed the sailor. “I gotta go pick up more guys!”

Sergeant Thomas had worked his way to the front. Now he held up one arm and charged down the ramp, into the water, and onto the sand. Sarge was a former infantryman. He was used to stuff like this. “Let’s go, men!” he said as we followed closely behind. Lieutenant Shanahan followed Sergeant Thomas like the rest of us.

I ran so fast that I don’t even remember touching the water. The next thing I knew, I was on the beach, dodging the huge X-shaped tank traps, running to keep up with Sarge and the rest of the men.

“Keep low,” Shanahan called out down the ranks. “There’re still some snipers and pockets of resistance around here.” An explosion shook stone from the cliffs to our left. He waved us to follow him up to the right near a group of American tanks. We gathered there and waited for our own trucks to land.

The beach was strewn with damaged vehicles and equipment, around which scurried hundreds of functioning vehicles and thousands of men on foot, all seeking higher ground as the tide rolled in. There were no bodies.

A convoy of familiar trucks and jeeps was approaching. “Hey, any of you fellers need a damn ride?” Tex drawled with a big smile as he drove up.

“All right, good, let’s go!” Shanahan said as most of us jumped aboard the moving vehicles. The rest loaded onto the jeeps as we followed a path up the hill, past a couple of German strongholds destroyed by the infantry, then westward along the edge of the cliffs until we reached Ponte-du-Hoc, a fortress situated on a sheer rock high above the beach, seemingly impregnable, but bombed into submission by the American Navy and overrun by the Rangers.

Out in the Channel, as far as the eye could see, the great fleet of warships stood as the Higgins boats darted endlessly between them and the shore.

From there we turned inland, up into the highlands of Normandy, then northwest in the direction of Cherbourg, passing through the towns of Isigny-sur-Mer, Carentan, and Ste.-Mère-Eglise. Every town and village was destroyed, in shambles and burning. All along the way, we could hear German artillery firing at the front lines, only to be answered many times over by the Allied warships off the coast. Large craters and dead animals were scattered about everywhere, evidence that we were well within range of both sides.

As twilight approached, we came across a wooded area some distance outside Montebourg. The lead truck pulled to a stop as it neared the trees. We immediately dismounted from the vehicles, drew our weapons, and looked to Sarge for instruction...