June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
Operation: Overlord
The harsh waters of the English Channel crashed against the side of invasion boat, spraying the soldiers inside. The boat rocked with the waves as it moved toward the beach, causing one man to vomit onto the floor much to the disgust of several others. The wind rushed through the cramped boat, sending more water splashing in. Two of the men held their heads down and touched the rosaries around their necks. In the middle of the pack sat their commander, a tall, broad set man with ash blond hair and square framed glasses, water droplets sprinkled over his chiseled face. His sky blue eyes scanned the horizon for their landing spot on the beach. Today was the day, no turning back.
As the beach grew closer and closer, the sounds of gunfire rang out from other invasion boats that had landed on the beach. They were to land in Sector Omaha and push their way up the beach and gain a stronghold. The hulking blond tightened his grip on his gun as he leaned forward with apprehension. The shouts grew louder as the boat approached its landing zone.
"We're about to open the gate, sir! Prepare your troops for battle!" the boat's navigator shouted.
Alfred Jones sat up straight, eyes narrowed and shouted back, "Understood! Men, get ready!"
There was a general tensing of the soldiers in the boat as they prepared themselves. Alfred felt proud of his soldiers and their spirit as he surveyed their preparations. His smile, however, quickly changed to a grimace as a torrent of bullets began to fall around their boat as it came to a halt on the beaches of Normandy.
June 6, 2010
Normandy, France
66 Year Reunion
The dark blue water lapped the sandy beach as Alfred looked out toward the English Channel. 66 years ago he was sitting in an invasion boat about to take part in one of the most decisive battles of World War II, yet it seemed like it was only yesterday. Alfred sighed and walked back up the beach to the grassy area where his party was waiting for him. He remembered his exact steps up the beach, dodging bullets, ducking behind barricades, leaping over the dead and wounded as he returned German fire. He had seen many great men die that day, and many more days before that.
As Alfred stepped onto the brick path he felt the overwhelming desire to visit one of the graves. The reunion party would be doing the exact same thing in a bit, but Alfred wanted to visit a special grave first. He followed the path down to the American Cemetery, a large area filled with white crosses. He passed grave after grave until he came upon the one he was searching for: the grave of Private Jeremy P. Russell. Alfred reached into the pocket of his favorite bomber jacket, bent down and draped something over cross: Jeremy's dog tags, his rosary and a purple heart, signifying the United States' recognition of his brave act in war.
June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
Operation: Overlord
Bullets ripped into the pack of soldiers, killing several instantly. Alfred ducked one bullet as it whizzed passed his head, barely scraping his cheek. The gates to the boat opened and the soldiers jumped into the water, struggling against the current as they made their way to the beach. Alfred followed his men, ignoring the sting as salt water got into the cut on his face. The water turned red with the blood of downed men, shot down before they reached the beach. Alfred felt his feet hit something solid as he finally reached the beach. He didn't have time to check what it was since German bullets were landing all around him. He scrambled behind a barricade and pulled the plastic bag off his gun. It was now or never.
Alfred took a deep breath and ran from his cover to a hill of sand 20 yards away. He passed one of the privates in his troop and winced in pain; the young man was bleeding heavily from his leg. Alfred scrambled over to him, grabbed his arm and dragged the private to the sand hill shouting for a medic all the way there. He reached the hill and collapsed on the sand as two medics rushed forward. He looked down at the private, whose breath was coming in short, ragged bursts.
"What's your name Private?"
"S-Simmons, sir," the Private gasped, "J-James S-Simmons."
"Hold on James, the medics are coming for you. Just hold on," Alfred shouted to the Private above the roar of gunfire before making a break for an embankment where troops were waiting for a commander.
Alfred pelted across the beach and up to the embankment, dodging fire as he went. All bullets seemed trained on him; he was the representation for the United States after all, losing him would mean disaster for his men. As Alfred approached the embankment a mortar shell exploded no more than ten feet from him, causing him to hit the ground hard. Alfred looked around before struggling back up to his feet and running forward, collapsing in between two American soldiers.
Alfred looked towards the German stronghold. Alfred glanced at the small mass of troops that had gathered. He noted that two had flame throwers and one had grenades. Unfortunately, they didn't have any snipers. Alfred rubbed his forehead underneath his helmet, thinking of a strategy. After a few seconds, he had one.
"Anyone play baseball?" Alfred shouted to his troops.
Several soldiers shouted yes in response, Alfred smiled.
"We're gonna play a game of catch, just like we do back home."
There was confusion among the soldiers; a game of catch? Here? Now? Alfred looked up at the stronghold one more time; it was within throwing range of a good arm. Alfred faced his troops again and explained his plan.
June 6, 2010
Normandy, France
66 Year Reunion
So many things could have gone wrong that day; a lot of things did go wrong that day as a matter of fact. Landing crafts missed their targets, the German defense was stronger than first thought, very few channels had actually been opened which caused mass build-ups for landings, retreats were hard to accomplish as the exits were heavily defended. Omaha beach had the worst amount of casualties and fighting compared to Juno beach which Matthew was in charge of or Gold beach where Arthur held command. They hadn't seen what Alfred had seen, nor did Alfred want them to see what he had seen. It was still vivid, 66 years later.
Alfred looked down at the white cross again. Jeremy had been a fine young man. Alfred remembered his dark brown hair sticking out of his helmet, caked in wet sand. Jeremy's ocean teal eyes staring up at the German stronghold, waiting for the command to throw a frag grenade into the open gun ports. Jeremy was the ideal American soldier, brave and ready to serve his country. Alfred hadn't realized that meant taking a bullet for his country too. Alfred's eyes stung as held back tears began to flow.
June 6, 1944
Normandy, France
Operation: Overlord
The soldiers stood poised and ready to throw their grenades. The gunfire wasn't on them but on the remaining landing crafts that struggled to reach the beach. Alfred stood up enough to avoid German fire and took aim in the stronghold.
"Ready. Aim. FIRE!" Alfred shouted as he pulled the pin and tossed the frag grenade into the building. About 20 other grenades flew over his head and into the stronghold. A massive fire erupted from the open gun ports, drowning out the screams of German soldiers.
Alfred ran forward, his men following him, up the hill to the stronghold only to be stopped by a gun nest resting on the next hill. A young soldier with dark brown hair ran in front of Alfred, took aim and shot one of the German soldiers. Before the second could retaliate, Alfred shot him down.
The group finally arrived at the German stronghold. Alfred could hear German's alive inside the building, shouting and trying to put out the fires. Alfred motioned for the two troops with flamethrowers to come forward and to stand by the exit. As German soldiers came running out, the two would start torching them. One German broke away from the massacre and ran toward the beach, only to be gunned down as he ran.
More German troops ran outside, their arms up in surrender. Alfred held up his arm in a command for his troops to stop. The soldiers were striped of their weapons and crowded in a corner of an abandoned bunker. Alfred locked the door of the bunker and began walking back to the stronghold to search for weapons; the dark haired private at his side the entire time.
"What's your name kid?"
"Russell, sir. Private Jeremy P. Russell."
"Where are you from Jeremy?"
"Leesburg, Virginia sir."
Alfred smiled and looked at the emptied gun nest, "That was some fine shooting Russell. Nice marksmanship."
"Thank you sir- LOOK OUT!"
Russell dove forward and pushed Alfred out of the way. Alfred hit the ground and heard a loud gunshot, followed by a second gunshot and the sound of someone collapsing. Alfred went cold as he looked up and saw a downed German officer and a collapsed Jeremy. Alfred ran up to the Private and lifted him by the shoulders. Blood was slowly creeping across the boy's chest, the light fading from his eyes.
"Russell? RUSSELL! Don't you dare die on me now! Don't you dare!"
Jeremy looked up at Alfred and smiled, "Sir, I'm sorry. But I couldn't let the damn Nazis get you. I'm glad to have served beside you."
"No, stay with me Jeremy! MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC HERE STAT!"
"Sir, it's too late for me. Make sure you beat those d-damn Nazis for me sir."
And with that, Jeremy P. Russell passed on, leaving a broken and crying Alfred alone on the hill amidst a raging battle soon to be won.
June 6, 2010
Normandy, France
66 Year Reunion
Alfred stood up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He needed to get going. He placed a hand on the grave and smiled as a blond man walked up behind him.
"There you are you silly bugger," Arthur Kirkland stated impatiently, "We've been waiting for you for half an hour, let's go you silly bastard. Have you been crying?"
Alfred had turned around and hugged at his British friend.
"No, just saying hello to an old friend of mine."