Good lord, this is horrible.

Standing here, or rather, running, surrounded by my fellow soldiers, most of whom were falling, bullets in their chests, legs, arms…heads…to a sandy grave. I'm petrified, utterly petrified.

I sprint as fast as my shaking legs will allow, up the beach, though it seems to take an eternity, and with screams and cries of  "MEDIC, SOMEBODY GET A MEDIC OVER HERE NOW!!"

or "MOMMA, I WANT TO GO HOME , I WANNA GO HOME!!!"

Surrounding me, I feel I know what hell really is like.

I'm jumping, dodging, rolling and crawling because it's too dangerous to stand anymore. The men are thinning out the further they get up the beach, and are therefore obviously more easier to pick off by the enemy.

This thought has lodged itself firmly in my brain…thinning out…easier to pick off…to dangerous…enemy.

I hear a yell, no a scream, that seems to reach my ears easier than all the others, and turn my head, as I scramble forward, toward the sound.

One of the men I recognise from the boat is about 100 metres away from me, screaming, no gurgling… blood gushing from his neck.

I watch frozen in my position, flat against the ground as a man nearby rushes to put his hands over the wound.

But it's to late.

He reaches, fumbling, his hands slippery with blood not his own,

Inside the fallen mans shirt for his tags, turns away, and starts to stand, before he to falls, never to rise again, a bullet in his stomach.

Then, jerking me out of my helpless trance, someone grabs me by the collar of my shirt and starts to haul me alongside him up the beach yelling "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING? IDIOT!! JUST LYING THERE LIKE THAT HUH?"

He shoves me, as easily as if I was a rag-doll, against a sandy bank, and I'm shoulder to, well, back, now with countless other men, all huddling in the protection of the lip of the bank, yelling to each other in order to be heard over the horrible noises.

Suddenly, I felt something, a bullet grazes the side of my helmet, and I pull it off and stare at it in wonder.

Someone comments "ya lucky basturd" and men turn to peer at me, shocked.

Those words were the last I ever heard.

Another shot was fired, a few seconds later.

This time it hit me square in the side of the head.

I slumped over, dead on that sandy bank, while the men turn away in horror, knowing there was no point in trying to help.

So that was it.

I became yet another body on the beach, lying in the sand.

Forgotten, grieved over and lost, lying in my sandy grave.