Water sloshed up all around the sides of the boat as it careened and crashed through the rough currents of the English Channel.  The boys of 2nd Ranger Battalion stood inside each craft trying their best to see what was ahead.  From time to time one of them would keel over and hurl onto the already dirty floor.  While none of them wanted to be standing in the filth, it was better than what lay ahead.  They had been in the boats for almost an hour now and the sound of exploding artillery shells began to fill their ears.  Splashes from the shells hitting the ocean nearby came next, followed by the rocking of the boats.  It was almost time…

BOOM!

The boats rocked hectically in the water.  The craft carrying 1st Squad, Fox Company was a ball of flame sinking slowly down into the Channel.  The water around the men exploded in huge showers.  The artillery from the beach had finally reached the landing party.  The men gripped their guns tighter.  Finally, the drivers began to relay commands.

"Clear the ramp!  One minute!"

The men backed away from the launch ramps while the ramp operators stepped up to the wheel.  The driver shouted out when it was thirty seconds to go, fifteen, ten, and then…

With a loud ratchet sound, the doors of the landing craft dropped to the shallow water of Omaha Beach.  Instantly, the MG-42s opened fire.  Men couldn't even take a step before they were knocked back by a hail of bullets.  Some began clambering over the side of the boats to try to get out of the way.  More artillery began hitting the shallows, sending whole ships flying through the air.  And charging out of 3rd Squad, Fox Company's boat was Lt. Miller.  Just barely escaping the MG-42s, he had dived up next to one of the tank traps littering the entrance to the beach.  All the gun fire was diverted from him and for a moment he had peace.  But it wouldn't last long.  His squad eventually made it to his side and looked at him with those eyes, that look that shows horror and innocence, that look that begs for authority.  Miller was scared, too.

"Ok men," he yelled over the battle noise, "We need to make it up to the shingle."  He pointed at a large sand hill lining the edge of the beach.  "If we get over that we can fight our way to the top of the cliff and take out those MG-42s.  We have to make way for the tanks, so we have to move now!  Clear?"

"Yes sir!" his squad yelled back.

"Ok, let's move out."