Bogged down in 'bocage'

World War II veteran recalls D-Day and beyond

by MICHAEL J. MISHAK

For Herb Lucas, Memorial Day stirs up memories of loss and feelings of sadness. Suffering from a paralyzed arm and hand, Lucas, 84, has been unable to decorate his brother's grave in his native Michigan for several years, a Memorial Day family tradition honored religiously during his childhood. For reasons of distance, Lucas was also prevented this week from visiting the Arlington grave of his wife, who he lost to cancer four years ago after nearly 60 years of marriage.

As Lucas rests in his living room recliner, taking in a baseball game, his thoughts inevitably settle on the fallen, those whose lives were cut short in the name of country and freedom.

As an executive officer in the U.S. Army during World War II, Lucas commanded troops and fought in the rough bocage country of Normandy in the days and weeks following D-Day, the defining moment in establishing an Allied foothold in Europe.

"I think about all the friends that I've lost," Lucas said. "It makes me sad. And I feel kind of guilty. They had just as much to live for as I did."

In 1940, the 20-year-old Lucas, a fledging ironworker from the small, unincorporated town of Lincoln Park — located between Detroit and Toledo — was working his way through night school in the hopes of earning an engineering degree.

"People of my generation didn't want to be soldiers," he said. "We didn't want a military career. We wanted to get out in the world and make a living."

Then, World War II derailed his plans.

Barhopping with a friend, Lucas saw the inevitability of military service. The two friends were single and without dependents, prime candidates for the reestablished draft. "It sounds like we're cannon fodder," Lucas' friend told him.

After studying each military branch's terms of commitment, Lucas enlisted in the Army Reserves in October 1940 with the belief that he was signing a one-year contract.

"I volunteered to dodge the draft," Lucas said. "But the Army had a different calendar. I was there for seven years."

He married his wife Mary in December, but extensive training separated the two for the next few years.

Labeling the Reserves as great a "social organization" as it was a military one, Lucas was initially stationed in Los Angeles near Hollywood after receiving basic training in Livingston, Louisiana.

When not patrolling the Pacific coast for Japanese submarine activity, Lucas mingled with celebrities like Pat O'Brien and scores of "stunning and beautiful young girls who could have been Hollywood starlets."

"It was hard work," Lucas joked.

Recommended for officer candidates school, he enrolled and received military coordination training, in addition to infantry instruction.

While many draftees and new officers were sent to Africa and Italy, Lucas went on to more technical training in Florida, learning to incorporate artillery, tanks and aircraft in maneuvers.

Receiving a high rating, Lucas' unit — M Company — was selected for further development, and would eventually be selected for the Normandy campaign in June 1944.

M Company, 120th Infantry, 30th Infantry Division was outfitted with new equipment and underwent marksmanship training in the fall of 1943.

Shipping out on February 11, 1944, Lucas, along with 3,000 other soldiers, landed in Glasgow, Scotland on February 22.

Making their way south to England's fortified coast, the company settled near Oxford in May and treated their vehicles and equipment for salt water.

Lucas remembers being impressed with British commander Bernard Montgomery during a troop inspection after the general's forces had marched 1,900 miles in 23 days. "I came down to see what you look like," Montgomery told the troops. "And you can see what I look like."

The leading commanders of the Normandy campaign bolstered troop morale, Lucas said, especially Dwight "Ike" Eisenhower, whose "magnetic personality" endeared him to troops.

While M Company was not selected to storm the beaches in the initial wave on June 6, D-Day, Lucas' unit played a critical role in the deadly fighting inland when they arrived on Omaha Beach in Normandy on June 12.

"The beach was clear," Lucas said. Six days earlier, his unit had stepped back and made room for the initial assault troops, many of who died before hitting the beach.

"They were pouring material and men in there," Lucas said of D-Day Plus 6. "The horizon was filled with ships."

Lucas recalled what Lieutenant General Omar Bradley, commander of U.S. ground forces during D-Day, said to his troops in the days before the invasion. "Don't be afraid to use the artillery," Bradley said. "Shells may cost money, but we can buy more shells. We can't buy another single human life."

Bracing for battle, Lucas and his company moved inland and advanced on the city of Cherbourg.

"My unit knew we had to fight. The sooner we fought, the sooner the war would be over," he said. "We knew it was our duty, and you do your duty the best you can."

When the city fell in late June, Lucas and the 30th Infantry Division began their attack on German positions throughout Normandy's bocage country, a landscape comprised of small fields that were surrounded by earth mounds called hedgerows.

Unfortunately, the area provided natural cover for German forces who had already established their defenses.

To mark property lines, local farmers traditionally used hedgerows, thick banks of earth eight to ten feet high. Many were covered with overgrowth and shrubbery.

"It was some dang strange country," Lucas said. "You don't know about the next field, let alone the next town. It was not the kind of country you wanted to fight in, but that's where we were and it was perfect for the Germans to defend."

Unlike the weak resistance they initially encountered from eastern front prisoners who had been forced to fight in German squads, the 30th Infantry Division battled with "seasoned, aggressive, hard-fighting" German troops one hedgerow at a time.

Lucas and his troops had to overcome pre-sited mortars, rifle pits and machine gun fire.

The fighting was slow and exhausting.

"You put your head down and keep going," he said. "And you provide enough fire to keep the Germans' heads down."

Three days into the battle, Lucas was hit on July 10 while helping a platoon that had lost half its men during a German counterattack. Bullets ripped through his left arm and he suffered a flesh wound on his leg. "Oh my God. I'll get to rest for awhile," Lucas thought to himself. "You get so damned tired."

His wounds were bandaged, and he was given apple brandy and morphine.

While resting in an ambulance, another soldier, who was critically injured, bled on Lucas' uniform. "He apologized for bleeding on me," Lucas said, with tears welling up. "When you're wounded and taken away from your company, you feel guilty."

The division would battle for another seven days, and though Lucas would not return to combat, he had seen enough.

"It was a battle of attrition," Lucas said. Though the 30^th Infantry Division had fought for just 14 miles, the distance proved to be "awfully expensive," Lucas said.

By the time it reached the high ground at Saint-Lo on July 17, the 30^th Infantry Division lost nearly 4,000 men in 10 days of deadly short-range fighting. "It was very bloody fighting," Lucas said. "We lost 75 percent of our infantrymen."

Asked about the effect of mounting casualties, Lucas is frank.

"You have to accept it. On the battlefield it's like part of the landscape."

Lucas returned to the U.S. and visited New York City for the first time.

"It seemed like I was back in civilization," Lucas said. "The battlefield is a very strange place. You live in a hole in the ground. The enemy is dropping shells and conducting night patrols Š and of course, we were returning the favor."

He visited the Empire State Building and watched the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall.

In what was revolutionary surgery for the time, surgeons took 18 inches of bone from Lucas' leg and reconstructed his left arm, which had been horribly shattered by bullets. He underwent monthly operations over the course of three years to repair severed nerves and to rebuild the arm. With neurosurgery still in its infancy, the efforts were unsuccessful, leaving Lucas with a reconstructed yet paralyzed arm.

Lucas recovered from his injuries and was released from medical care in 1947. He received an honorable discharge at the rank of captain later that year. He was awarded the purple heart and bronze star commendations. His division was designated as the most outstanding in the European Theatre of Operation.

"I look back and I think about all the time I spent in service Š some men couldn't handle it. They got the battle-rattle," Lucas said. "But I had a family and that made a difference for me. I had to work for a living. I had to support them. That was it. They were my guiding stars."

After military service, Lucas enjoyed careers in the U.S. Chamber of Commerce and later in the Department of Defense where he evaluated government contracts as a cost analyst for 31 years, retiring at age 79.

Lucas moved to Chestnut Hill to be closer to his daughter Marilyn, of Wyndmoor, after the death of his wife, Mary.

Reflecting on those who fought and died alongside him in the rough hedgerow country of Western Normandy, Lucas is consumed with emotion. Like many fellow veterans, he doesn't talk about war often, and his words are short.

"I don't like aggression by our military," he said of today's war. "It all seems unnecessary."