For Normans, the invasion began with noise. Just before midnight on Monday night, the fifth of June, hundreds of airplanes could be heard flying south over the Cotentin Peninsula. The constant rumble of plane engines and the distant roar of artillery—these two sounds combined to create what one witness called “a ceaseless storm.” Together they awakened thousands of Normans from their deepest sleep of the night. They rose from their beds, ran outside in their nightclothes, peered at the sky, and tried to figure out what was happening. Is this it? they wondered, overcome with fear and excitement.
The sound of airplanes was by no means a novel phenomenon. In the past months, civilians had grown accustomed to planes flying overhead—hundreds of them—almost every night. Allied bombing of strategic sights throughout northern France had become a common event. But this night was different; something new was happening. The aircraft were flying close to the ground and reaching targets. In response, German machine guns and artillery were firing furiously, contributing to the din. Soon the Norman night was filled with strange sights as well as sounds: the landing of parachutes and gliders, the dancing lights of artillery, the red glow of villages in flames. These sights were terrible, frightening, but also oddly beautiful.