June 6th
I held my helmet as the boat began to rock violently back and forth, side to side. The smell of salt and vomit mingled together to take form of an unbearable smell, though my fear overrode most of my senses, I couldn't tell if it was the rain or the fear that made the surrounding shapes blurry. A wave hit the small boat, from the left, tipping it slight. What a day I remember thinking to myself. Another soldier let his guts out on the deck, over my feet. I could feel it seeping inside my boots, warm and soggy, but I refused to move. He simply patted my shoulder, mumbled a few apologies and then turned back towards doom.
There was an explosion followed by a low rumble as shells flew over the channel, hitting deep in Caen. I slowly turned round, looked over the many heads, to see the battle ships becoming distant in the abyss of waves, rain and deep grey clouds.
" I see the beach" one man cried from the front. His voice trembled as he spoke, I recognised it as Pvt. Jonathan Powell's voice. A young man, twenty or so, who didn't deserve to go first. The front rows were just used as cannon fodder; they were never expected to live long though I was grateful I wasn't at the front.
A loud boom shook the boat and everyone in it. A body flew overhead, high into the air, spraying us with seawater and blood. I gave the images no time to sink in and turned away while wiping my face. No one spoke of it, everyone kept their heads down, looking at the vomit coloured floor. Deep in my mind I remember thinking this is it, the day of death, were all going to die here. It could have been the panic getting inside of me but I knew it was in everybody's mind, it was whether you accepted it or not.
" Okay men this is it!" Sarge cried from the back "Make our country proud".
Then, silence. The guns stopped screaming, people stopped firing, the boat stopped moving. The earth stood still, leaving me just enough time to take one more look up at the clouds. Harsh violent mixtures of blue-greys reached out across the sky and down into my soul. Is this what it is like before you die?
The earth began to move again, though the boat did not. I wished it would move away, but it did not. With a heavy clank, the front of the container came away, like a bridge over a moat.
Powell went first.
The bullets tore through him like they would through paper. Machine gun fire rained down upon us from two small turrets at the top of a small rise in the beach. I gripped my Enfield tight to my chest. Running into the splatters of blood and the hail of bullets. I could feel the floor moving beneath my feet. I was running over bodies. Over Powell.
I heard it first. A loud TAK! My head snapped back on my neck sending my body down towards the sea of red. The darkness followed.
This is what it takes to make my country proud.
I held my helmet as the boat began to rock violently back and forth, side to side. The smell of salt and vomit mingled together to take form of an unbearable smell, though my fear overrode most of my senses, I couldn't tell if it was the rain or the fear that made the surrounding shapes blurry. A wave hit the small boat, from the left, tipping it slight. What a day I remember thinking to myself. Another soldier let his guts out on the deck, over my feet. I could feel it seeping inside my boots, warm and soggy, but I refused to move. He simply patted my shoulder, mumbled a few apologies and then turned back towards doom.
There was an explosion followed by a low rumble as shells flew over the channel, hitting deep in Caen. I slowly turned round, looked over the many heads, to see the battle ships becoming distant in the abyss of waves, rain and deep grey clouds.
" I see the beach" one man cried from the front. His voice trembled as he spoke, I recognised it as Pvt. Jonathan Powell's voice. A young man, twenty or so, who didn't deserve to go first. The front rows were just used as cannon fodder; they were never expected to live long though I was grateful I wasn't at the front.
A loud boom shook the boat and everyone in it. A body flew overhead, high into the air, spraying us with seawater and blood. I gave the images no time to sink in and turned away while wiping my face. No one spoke of it, everyone kept their heads down, looking at the vomit coloured floor. Deep in my mind I remember thinking this is it, the day of death, were all going to die here. It could have been the panic getting inside of me but I knew it was in everybody's mind, it was whether you accepted it or not.
" Okay men this is it!" Sarge cried from the back "Make our country proud".
Then, silence. The guns stopped screaming, people stopped firing, the boat stopped moving. The earth stood still, leaving me just enough time to take one more look up at the clouds. Harsh violent mixtures of blue-greys reached out across the sky and down into my soul. Is this what it is like before you die?
The earth began to move again, though the boat did not. I wished it would move away, but it did not. With a heavy clank, the front of the container came away, like a bridge over a moat.
Powell went first.
The bullets tore through him like they would through paper. Machine gun fire rained down upon us from two small turrets at the top of a small rise in the beach. I gripped my Enfield tight to my chest. Running into the splatters of blood and the hail of bullets. I could feel the floor moving beneath my feet. I was running over bodies. Over Powell.
I heard it first. A loud TAK! My head snapped back on my neck sending my body down towards the sea of red. The darkness followed.
This is what it takes to make my country proud.
