Off the Coast of Dieppe

August 19th, 1942

Operation Jubilee

In his landing craft, Canada stood with the Royal Regiment of Canada. For the most part, they were silent, checking their weapons and gear one final time as the landing craft chugged through the surf and towards Blue Beach. Canada peeked up and tried to see through the small view port that had been cut out of the landing craft's door. The smoke screen that was to conceal them was beginning to drift away from the wind.

"FOURTY SECONDS!" the driver of the craft shouted.

Canada gulped as he made certain that his Lee-Enfield rifle was loaded. He had a bad feeling about this raid. He had little intelligence on what was waiting for them on that beach. He turned his head and looked back at all the young faces of the men around him. They were very solemn, almost as if they were having the bad feeling that he was. Canada tucked his hair curl up under his beret. He was still wary of the bad feeling he was having in his stomach. This was going to be his first ground action of this war, a war with new forms of combat that he wasn't experienced with. New forms that were a far cry from what he had developed in the Great War.

"I wonder if I should have put a helmet on." Canada thought to himself.

"THIRTY SECONDS BOYS!" The driver said.

The landing craft drove closer and closer to the beach. Mortars and artillery shells began to slam into the water, great blasts of water splashed into the boat. Muzzle flashes began to sparkle from positions on the beach, as loud pings and clangs shuddered the steel of the boats as each hit its mark.

Canada stayed silent. He could hear some of the men begin to panic and worry, an occasional yelp whenever a long burst smacked against the door.

"TWENTY SECONDS, GET READY!"

Canada gripped his rifle tightly. He could feel himself starting to sweat. His heavy breathing began to close out the other sounds around him.

"TEN SECONDS! NINE!...EIGHT!..." The pilot began to count down as the craft slowed to a stop.

"SEVEN!.. SIX!...FIVE!..." The sounds of small arms being cocked rang throughout the landing craft.

"FOUR!...THREE!...TWO!..." With a final tense breath, Canada quickly flicked the safety off of his rifle. He could hear the doors of the landing craft unbolt and the lift chains as they rattled and unwound.

"ONE!"

The doors rapidly swung open and the ramp slammed down on to the beach. The soldiers began to surge forward, but the men in front were gunned down by the machine guns. Screams and wails predated the dull thumps and splashes as the dead and wounded collapsed on the ramp or fell into the water. Blood began to splatter against the inside walls as bullets tore through the soldiers.

Somehow, a few managed to make it through, and Canada soon found himself on the beach, amongst those who had lived as they charged towards the concrete sea wall that stood before them. More and more Canadians were cut down by the relentless machineguns and rifle shots. Screams of pain and terror filled the air. Bullets cracked and whined as they screamed overhead. The explosions of mortars threw their unlucky targets into the air, before dropping them on to the beach, dead.

Canada leapt over the bodies of soldiers who had fallen in front of him, dashing through the hail of death as bullets kicked up the sand around him, or slammed into the numerous bodies littering the beach. Wounded men screamed a final time as the German gunners sealed their fates. Canada fired round after round as he charged forward. He didn't know if he hit anything, but inside, it made him feel safer.

Canada dove towards the seawall and took what little shelter he could against it. He looked back and saw the carnage on the beach, as more and more men were slaughtered as they tried to assault the beach. A small contingent of soldiers had managed to join him at the seawall. Many of them were the only survivors of their platoons and sections.

"Why don't we have any God damned tank support?" a voice wailed.
"They got Tommy! The fucking jerry's got Tommy!" One of the men sobbed.
"What do we do Lieutenant?" A soldier shouted to Canada.
"We need to get past this sea wall! Where are the ladders? Demolition charges, anything!" Canada shouted.
"Angus was carrying my section's charges, but he got his head blown off as soon as he got out of the fucking landing craft!" another soldier shouted.

As the Canadians on Blue beach struggled to find a way past the concrete barrier, unknown to them, a German machine gun crew was setting up their MG-42 machine gun in a concrete barrier overlooking the entire beach. A smile wrote itself on the gunner's face as he aimed down at the helpless Canadians.

"I think I might have something..." one of the Canadians said as he rummaged through the grenade bag hanging off his shoulder.

The MG42 erupted in a long burst. Rounds of ammunition tore into the Canadians at the sea wall, and swept across those who were still trying to charge up the beach. The men died in droves as Hitler's buzz-saw lived up to its name.

Canada took cover in an alcove, sheltering himself from the enfilading fire.

"This is slaughter!" Canada thought. He watched helplessly as more and more Canadians were cut to pieces. He watched as a medic who worked diligently to save a wounded man's life was torn to shreds along with his patient. Canada grabbed hold of the radio set one of the now perished solders was carrying and lifted the handset to his ear.

"Queen One, Blue Beach is impenetrable," He shouted into the hand set. "I say again Blue Beach is impenetrable! We're being murdered here!"

His report was drowned by the radio traffic. Others on the other beaches were reporting the same thing. For hours, Canada watched the massacre continue, pausing only to encourage the men to get to safety, or to throw hand grenades over the wall in an attempt to stop the machine guns. The soldiers bravely tried again and again push through the kill zone and attack the German emplacements, but their only reward was a quick death. Gore and blood exploded from the men who were hit, and the beach was soon stained with patches of dark red blood, marking the spots where young lives had ended. Landing craft were hit and disabled, beginning to catch fire as more and more ordinance was slammed into them. The wounded and dying screamed in pain, begging either of their friends to save them, for their god to end their suffering, or for the nurturing presence of their mothers. Then, when he thought all hope was lost, a report crackled from the handset.

"All Raiding forces, pull back to the landing craft. Repeat, fall back to the landing craft! Vanquish eleven hundred!"

"FALL BACK! FALL BACK TO THE LANDING CRAFT!" someone on the beach cried.

The men began to run back through the deadly gauntlet of fire to the landing craft attempting to drive back to the beaches. More and more of their numbers were reduced as they added to the scores of bodies on the beach. The Relentless machine gun fire smashed into the men's backs, mortar bombs blasting the men to pieces and tossing them around like ragdolls. Canada sprinted across the blood stained beach, leaping over bodies and dropped equipment. As he approached the shore line, a round smashed into his left forearm, wrenching his rifle from his grasp as his body spun and he stumbled forwards.

Canada screamed in pain as another round slammed into his back, and another smashed across his left shoulder, throwing him into the blood red surf. Gasping for air, he struggled to keep his head above the waves as more and more rounds splashed into the water around him. Looking up, Canada saw one of the landing craft, taking fire as it loaded survivors on.

Struggling through the water, Canada got up and ran as fast as he could through the surf. As the sea floor dropped out from under him, he soon found himself swimming to the craft, his wounds burning as the salt water seeped into them, but Canada fought the pain and pressed onwards. As he swam, he could hear other swimmers as they were cut down, splashing to keep from drowning. Closer and closer he swam to the ramp of the landing craft.

"C'mon friend!" One of the soldiers shouted, holding out his hand. "You can make it! Come on!"

Canada swam up to the ramp and grabbed onto the soldiers hand. He was dragged onto the ramp.

"Medic! We need a medic!" the soldier shouted as he rolled Canada onto his back. Canada wailed in pain as he felt himself being dragged back into the boat.

"We can't stay here! We need to pull back now!" The boat driver shouted.
"There's still more out there! I can see them!" The soldier shouted.
"Ten minutes, I'll stay for ten more minutes, and then we have to go!" The driver responded.

Only a few more men were plucked from the sea and into the safety of the landing craft.

"Can you see anyone else?" The Driver shouted.
"No... there can't be anyone else." The soldier who was pulling men out of the sea said reluctantly before he stepped into the cargo bay.

Canada was able to get one last look at the beach as the ramp slowly lifted.

Burning landing craft and bodies littered the beach. Piles of the dead were everywhere. Smoke from the burning craft began to mask the scene as the blood and gore covered ramp finally closed. Canada looked around sluggishly at the small number of men around him. They were wounded, or unarmed, or both. Few men still had their weapons and gear, deciding it better to leave them behind as they ventured through the surf. They were pale, with sad, blank eyes. Almost all of them were fighting tears.

Canada felt a pinprick in his arm, and soon he felt himself grow weakened by the shot of morphine he knew he had just been given. Before Canada fell asleep, he could feel one of the soldiers trace an "M" on his forehead with blood from his wound.

Soon, he felt the gentle rocking of the boat ease him to sleep.

Two Hours after the end of the Dieppe raid.

Germany walked past the columns of Canadian soldiers who had been left of the beaches and were now being marched to POW camps, carrying their wounded with them. Germany stepped down onto the beach where the Canadians had tried to attack the port of Dieppe directly. Slowly he wandered towards the shoreline, past the piles of bodies some of the Canadian prisoners were lining up, and helping to identify.

Discarded weapons were either strewn across the beach or being stacked into large piles. Germany was awestruck by the carnage on the beach, as he stepped over bodies, and walked past the burnt out hulks of disabled Churchill tanks and burning landing craft. A few lifeless bodies were gently being rocked by the tides, as they bobbed along the shore.

Even he was silenced by the carnage he surveyed.

A Week Later, Allied Headquarters.

Canada walked silently down the hall to the meeting the western allies were having. His side still ached from its wound, and his bandaged arm sat in the sling around his neck. Eventually, he reached the door to the meeting room, and after a deep breath, he reluctantly opened the door.

Inside, England France and America all looked up at him.

"Hello everyone." Canada said.
"Hello Canada." England said. "Take a seat, please."

Canada quietly sat down in his spot.

"You..." Canada said, looking at the table, "...you all want to talk about Dieppe, don't you?"

England sighed as he took another sip from his tea.

"No sense in putting it off and leaving it as an elephant in the room, now is there?" he said.

"Well... there's no other way to describe it other than a complete disaster." England said, picking up the report in front of him. "Out of the nearly five thousand Canadians we landed on that beach, three thousand, three-hundred and sixty-seven are now dead, wounded or captured. Not a single objective was reached, and we suffered sixty-eight percent casualties."

Canada's heart sank even deeper.

"There's a lot that we've learned from this raid. Firstly, we needed better fire support. It was god-dammed idiotic of us to send you in without a proper preliminary bombardment or bombing runs. We lost the element of surprise, and we shouldn't have landed when the conditions were perfect for landing troops. That's when the Germans were on highest alert. We didn't have proper landing craft for when the raid failed and we needed to pull out. And it was stupid of us to attack a heavily defended port. And not only that, basing our choice of landing spots based off of holiday snaps was bloody stupid. The sand was all wrong, so we couldn't land any armoured support..."

England sighed after his rant. "And there's more we need to learn from all this."

The meeting continued, with more and more detailed analysis of each and everything that went wrong, with poor Canada feeling worse and worse as time went on. Mercifully, the meeting ended, and France and America left, leaving Canada and England alone.

"Arthur?" Canada asked as soon as England touched the doorknob.
"Yes Matthew?" England replied.
"I'm... I'm sorry I failed." Canada said.
"It's not your fault Matthew. It's not your fault in any way. You did what was expected. You went in and fought bravely, but it was piss poor planning what lost us this battle. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. "

After England left, Canada rested his head on the table.

"Why?" Was all he thought, as tears ran down his face.

"Why?"