 since D-Day, the day that saw the beginning of the greatest crusade in history, the freeing of an enslaved Europe. And thousands of young Americans helped open that road to liberation. Every hour more are returning from the Normandy beachhead, many of them on stretchers. Some are shipmates of the Coast Guardsmen in this barracks. It's hard to forget that. It's even harder to forget the others who will never come back to us. Only three weeks ago we were all here together, working and waiting. It seems almost like yesterday. If only you could have seen this harbor then, the ugly flat-bottomed LCIs. The smaller craft always on the go. The snub-nosed LCVPs that would spearhead the coming invasion. The fast Coast Guard rescue cutters that later were to save so many lives. Hundreds of ships and landing craft each with its specific job. You remember young Bill Jackson, who sang in your boy's choir. He was serving aboard the rescue cutter Flying Angel. For months Bill and the others were put through invasion maneuvers. They called them dry runs and other terms not in our vocabulary. By now the GIs were resigned to these seagoing excursions and convinced they had joined the Marines. Our men began to feel they were running a water taxi service. They kept hoping each dry run might turn out to be more than just another rehearsal. Inside of land you could feel the growing tension aboard ship. But always the objective turned out to be another section of the English Coast. Our boys would go through the same never-changing procedure. Get the infantry aboard the landing craft and then head in fast for the beaches. They were pretty good but except for a few minor kinks. Established another beach head but it was the aftermath of every maneuver that really got our Coast Guardsmen down. Maintenance to them was just more monotonous routine. Get everything ship-shaped so it could be all fouled up in the next dry run. Sometimes if the lads were lucky Liberty ashore met a date. They were lonely for the long remembered friendships of home. It helped even for a little while to get away from the ships and the maneuvers and the war they felt they weren't fighting. Hours ashore ended all too quickly. Another day and once again the harbor swarmed with men and ships made ready for the order to up anchor. The LCVPs ferry the troops out to the waiting transports. Engineers and medical corpsmen. Every ship and landing craft fitted into the operation like the parts of a jigsaw puzzle. A puzzle that always worked out in the same meaningless pattern. And then it happened. Attention men, attention. From General Eisenhower to all soldiers, sailors and airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force. You are about to embark upon the great crusade toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the boys knew this wasn't just another war game. This time they would be playing for keeps. The construction of our invasion harbors were towed across the channel. This time many of us wondered when we'd see the cliffs of England again. Steadily and stealthily toward our appointed rendezvous off the coast of France. Plans held services on deck. We were in God's hands now. And every man, no matter what his faith, sought strength and solace in prayer. We arrived at the rendezvous and hove to under the welcome cover of the deep. Now began the most trying ordeal of all waiting through the long nerve straining silence for each hour. The picking up the wounded. The supplies and equipment were shuttled in from the sea. We landed more medical field units. The severely wounded were carried to the relative safety of outlying hospital ships and transports. Bring ashore with their tons of heavy equipment. German prisoners were filtered to the rear to wait until we had waters against the treacherous seas. Invasion coast still was among our coast guard losses. Young Bill Jackson will never sing in your choir again. They written his parents. That's the hardest part of our task. Those last letters we of the chaplain corps must write. There are so many deeds of courage and sacrifice that cannot be measured in mere words. They must be recorded by a much greater power than his hours. So much for now, old friend. The great crusade of liberation is well begun. I myself have been more than fortunate. My prayer is that I will always be with my boys in whatever trials may lie ahead.