Brothers in Arms

It all looked so tranquil: The black and white photograph of two men, one considerably older than the other, grasping hands and conversing alone on a beach that stretches back toward a pier that juts into the water from the coast of France toward the English Channel.

Digital Version

The older gentleman, Steven Melnikoff of Cockeysville, Maryland, stands upright on both legs and leans over the younger man, Kevin Brewington of Jonesville, South Carolina, who rests on what little is left of both of his legs. Melnikoff is 104. Brewington is 34.

It was a sobering moment June 8, during events marking the 80th anniversary of Operation Overlord and the famed 1944 D-Day invasion of Normandy, France. They shared some quiet time on the strip of real estate branded into our history as Omaha Beach, which was considerably more terrifying than tranquil eight decades ago.

The strength of the men’s immediate connection reflected in the photo is indeed worth a thousand words, maybe even more. Both were U.S. Army soldiers. Both were infantrymen. Both were wounded in combat. Both have their Bronze Stars and Purple Hearts as proof positive that they served and bled and came dangerously close to dying for their country. Forget the 70-year difference in ages. They are brothers.

They were united under the umbrella of The Greatest Generations Foundation based in Denver. Begun in 2004, the nonprofit foundation has enabled veterans of various American wars to return to their old battlefields for closure and to capture their stories for posterity, as well as provide community educational programs.

Melnikoff was easily among the oldest and one of just a few hardy World War II veterans who returned to Normandy this year. They were welcomed back as heroes. Some acknowledged that it could be their final trip.

Melnikoff was a 24-year-old infantryman when he first stepped onto Omaha Beach on June 7, 1944. He had been drafted into the Army in 1943 and was serving in the 29th Infantry Division, the Guard’s famed “Blue and Gray,” from Maryland, Virginia and the District of Columbia. Brewington had volunteered for the Army in 2010 and deployed to Afghanistan in 2011 with the a Stryker brigade combat team from Fort Wainwright, Alaska, when an improvised explosive device robbed him of his legs.

It was no surprise that the two men and other veterans had much to talk about in Normandy. They were joined by Brett Bondurant of Indiana, Brewington’s friend who also lost both of his legs in Afghanistan in 2011.

“It was a couple of infantrymen talking to an old infantryman. We all understand each other.” says Brewington, who made it clear why visiting Normandy for the first time was important to him. “It was pretty surreal being in the presence of real heroes. Spotlighting the guys who came before us. That’s what it’s all about, building on top of each other. That’s where the brotherhood comes from.

“We all have the understanding that we put our bodies and our lives out there just to have a free country,” Brewington adds. “That’s forgotten nowadays, but it needs to be brought to light every now and again.”

Although he was never a Guard soldier himself, Melnikoff is among the few remaining survivors who remember first hand what the 29th’s soldiers endured, along with the 1st Infantry Division, as they spearheaded the daring amphibious assault June 6 and 7 and pushed headlong into the Battle of Normandy.

Therefore, do not even think about suggesting to Melnikoff that he’s not a D-Day veteran or that the 29th was not a damned good combat outfit or that its soldiers were not prepared to fight and perhaps die for their country and for each other.

He will tell you otherwise, in no uncertain terms and in a voice that remains edged by 28 months of tough Army training and even tougher combat. “I am a D-Day veteran. And you had better recognize that,” Melnikoff insists. “I went ashore on June 7 because my regiment, the 175th, was not committed on June 6. But I was a member of the 29th Division, and the 29th attacked on Omaha Beach.”

If you were a combat veteran and you served with the 29th Division, you had a hundred D-Days.

—Steven Melnikoff, 104 year-old World War II veteran from Cockeysville, Maryland

THE GUARD DIVISION MELNIKOFF JOINED in late January 1944 was by then fully part of the Regular Army. It had been brought to full strength with draftees like himself. It had been training for war in England and Scotland since October 1942. Much of those 15 months had been focused on amphibious assaults, says retired Army Guard Lt. Col. Jimmy Kilbourne, the director of the 29th Division Museum in Verona, Virginia.

Although no one seems to know for sure, Kilbourne suspects that its prolonged training and the fact that it was well known for its citizen-soldier heritage are among the reasons why planners selected the 29th, along with the North Africa and Sicily-seasoned Big Red One, to lead the assault on Omaha Beach.

By the time the Blue and Gray division hit that beach, “there was a flavor of the National Guard,” but, on average, perhaps only 30% of the soldiers in the various units were originally Guardsmen, Kilbourne states.

“It was a citizen-soldier division with a lot of draftees signed in, a lot of Reservists assigned, and of course even some full-time Army guys,” Kilbourne says. “Some of the leadership had been changed out from Guard personnel to folks who had been in the Army for some time.”

Melnikoff was an assistant Browning Automatic Rifleman in the division’s 175th Regiment — 1st Battalion, C Company, 3rd Platoon, 3rd Squad — that was held in reserve June 6 while the 116th and 115th regiments led the 29th into a dreadful baptism of fire.

You might get the impression from movies such as The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan that all of the action on Omaha Beach occurred June 6. You would be wrong.

A detailed after action report relates a different story. The 175th began landing at 12:30 p.m. on June 7. “Several of F Company’s and one of L Company’s landing craft were destroyed by underwater mines and machine-gun fire as they approached the beach.”

The soldiers encountered mortar and machinegun fire for the rest of that long day as they advanced inland. “At 2330, in the vicinity of Gruchy, Company F and Regimental Headquarters Company were hit from the flank by enemy gun and artillery fire. Supporting tanks of the 747th Tank Battalion moved up, supported the motion to clean up the opposition and the advance continued.”

So, forget how Hollywood depicts combat, Melnikoff, says.

“It’s not even ever close,” he explains. “You don’t understand. How could you understand seeing your buddy killed right alongside you — right in front of your eyes? Unless you’ve experienced combat, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It didn’t take long for Melnikoff to experience it all at, among other places, Hill 108 in Normandy. It was there June 16, nine days into combat, that his best friend and teammate, the BAR man named Arthur Giotos, was killed in action, the 104-year-old veteran explains.

Melnikoff first felt a bullet’s bite the next day as his battalion, “again moved out in the attack with Hill 108 as its objective,” states the report. German machine-gun fire killed his first lieutenant, Bert Fields, while he was standing beside Melnikoff. One bullet also hit Melnikoff in the neck, and he was evacuated to a hospital in England. He returned to action after he recovered.

Hill 108 became known as “Purple Heart Hill.” The 175th’s newly named regimental commander, Lt. Col. Alexander George, was seriously wounded by a hand grenade there June 17.

Melnikoff was wounded again, hit in the left shoulder with shrapnel, Sept. 14 during the Battle for Brest, considered a vital French port for allied supplies. That was about five days before the Germans gave up that savage, six-week fight, leaving the harbor in ruins and of no use to the Allied forces. He returned to action for a second time after recovering again in England. A piece of shrapnel remains in his shoulder, he says.

He remained with the 29th through the end of the war in May 1945. By then the division had connected with Russian forces on the Elbe River in Germany.

There was a connection of sorts to the Russian allies. Melnikoff says his paternal grandfather had served for 25 years in the Russian army before retiring and starting his own family.

THIS WASN’T MELNIKOFF’S FIRST RETURN VISIT to Omaha Beach. He has revisited that shore and the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial and the French towns and Hill 108 as many as 15 times since he made his first pilgrimage for the 60th anniversary in 2004.

“It’s easy for me to go back because I’ve done it before,” Melnikoff says. “My thoughts have mellowed over the years. But I still have feelings. I had very deep feelings, more than once, at the 80th anniversary — on the beach, during the ceremony at the cemetery, meeting President [Joe] Biden. Yes, I still become emotional.”

But was D-Day more significant than any other battles?

“People don’t understand. They talk about D-Day. But if you were a combat veteran and you served with the 29th Division, you had a hundred D-Days,” he says. “We were constantly on the attack. So, which of those was the most important one? Was it Omaha Beach? Was it Saint-Lô? Was it Brest? Was it the one when we reached the Elbe River? I couldn’t tell you that.”

But Melnikoff will tell you who he thinks made the difference in World War II, including those he visits when he returns to the cemetery above Omaha Beach.

“It was those 18-, 19-, 20-year-old kids who did all of this,” he says. “They’re the ones who made it possible for my buddies who were there and were able to come back. It was also the help of the fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters and friends who worked on the farms and in the mines and in the factories to supply all of the material for the whole world, all the aircraft, the tanks, the ships and the food. We can’t forget that. That was the generation that did it for everybody.”

Bob Haskell is a retired Maine Army National Guard master sergeant and a freelance journalist in Falmouth, Massachusetts. He may be contacted at magazine@ngaus.org.

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Steven Melnikoff: Before, After WWII, and a Great-Grandson in the 29th

STEVEN MELNIKOFF WAS BORN in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, on Nov. 28, 1919, the last of three children born to Ukrainian immigrants Andry and Anna Melnikoff. He grew up in Woonsocket and was working at the Fore River Shipyard in Quincy, Massachusetts, building naval warships when the United States entered World War II.

He received three deferments because his job was considered essential to the war effort before he was drafted in 1943 and reported for duty June 26. Melnikoff cut his infantry teeth, as did some 200,000 other GIs, at Camp Fannin in eastern Texas, named for a hero of the Texas Revolution.

“We had 17 weeks of basic training. Then I had five additional months of training with my unit in England before we went to France.”

By then he knew the .30-caliber BAR, employed as a squad-level light machine-gun, inside and out. He also trained with M-1 rifles and carbines, .45-caliber pistols, machine-guns and mortars.

“We trained with everything. We were super well-trained because all we trained for was for war.”

Melnikoff saw a lot of that. His 28 months of service included 11 months in combat. He received three Bronze Stars and two Purple Hearts as well as an arrowhead device for the D-Day amphibious assault and four campaign stars. He was a technical sergeant and his company’s acting first sergeant when he got out in October 1945.

He embraced the opportunities afforded by the GI Bill of Rights. Melnikoff earned a mechanical engineer degree at the University of Rhode Island. He worked for Bethlehem Steel in Baltimore as a production engineer and then a supervisor for 31 years. He was married and had three children, two grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren. His wife of 59 years died 17 years ago.

One great-grandson, Koen Melnikoff, 19, has extended the family’s military line by joining the Virginia Army Guard’s 116th Infantry Brigade Combat Team and has recently completed his training as a combat medic.

— By Bob Haskell