Private first class Daniel Gonzalez hung over the side of the Higgins boat and vomited into the water. He was seasick as hell, and the rocking of the landing craft wasn't helping.
When he glanced down at the water below, he caught sight of several dead bodies and a rifle that was tied to a Mae West life preserver bobbing around in the tide. Feeling nauseated, he slumped back into the boat and sat down in his old seat, which happened to be right in front of the ramp.
Putting his back against the side of the Higgins boat, Gonzalez buried his mind in thought. He was part of the 116th regiment, and he was going to take part in the long-awaited invasion of France. It was all very exciting, to have a part in the long-anticipated battle, but for the past few days he had been too seasick to care. Gonzalez had been stuck on a somewhat cramped LCI landing craft for the past few days. The floor was wet, and his ongoing seasickness had made it almost impossible for him to get any sleep.
As the Higgins boat approached the beach, Gonzalez began to think about what life would be like for his family if he never came back from the war. He was a Mexican American, and he had lived in poverty like most Americans during the thirties with little food and possessions. His dad had died when Gonzalez was only nine, and he and his older sister had spent most of their childhood raising their five younger siblings. His mother helped when she could, but she had to work all day just to feed her children.
An elbow to his side scattered his thoughts away. "What do you want, Cook," he grumbled tiredly.
Pvt. Joseph Cook, a seventeen-year-old high school dropout blessed with unbelievably good eyesight, studied his face for a second before saying, "Ya think we'll make it out alive?"
"Now's not the time, Cook," snapped the corporal sitting in front of Gonzalez, who had overheard the young private. That shut Cook up, and Gonzalez, spared having to talk of death by answering the question, drifted back into his thoughts.
Corporal Jennings was right, obviously. No one in the platoon wanted to think of death. It made them jumpy and nervous. But then again, the chances of everyone in the boat living through the attack on the beach were basically microscopic. Everyone knew that. Despite that, it was hard to believe that the man next to you might not be alive after the ramp went down. He himself might not even be alive for very long.
That thought frightened him, but Gonzalez gradually calmed down and began to think about what he had done during his life. Gonzalez had been a gifted student, like two of his younger siblings, and had kept a 3.6 grade point average throughout grade school and high school, even though he seldom had time to study. His mother had high hopes for him, and she had been saving up for him to go to college ever since she saw the grades on his first high school report card. Other than that, he didn't really do anything that was worthy of praise. Gonzalez had played soccer for the high school team, but he never was very good. After high school, he got a job working on the highway to save up for college. He had been making a good amount of money, mainly because the highway was littered with cash or things you could sell for cash. He was close to achieving his goal of making it to college, and he felt that nothing would hinder his progress.
He was wrong. The war came along and he got drafted. Gonzalez didn't like that. This was America. It was supposed to be free. Why was he in the army, about to charge a beach in the face of machine-gun and artillery fire just because a bunch of politicians got in a hassle with each other. And more so than that, Gonzalez wondered why the politicians themselves weren't out here fighting in the war that they caused.
Gonzalez had spent a lot of time thinking about that while he was training in England. He had no problem voicing his opinion to everyone around him either. That pissed off some of the officers and kept him from being made a corporal. But he didn't care, being a PFC was fine, but he did wish that he had more authority at times.
Corporal Jennings began taping the ramp with the but of his rile. "Anxious to go kill some Krauts, corporal," Gonzalez asked.
"Nah, just nervous. I'm just wondering how the lead companies did?" Gonzalez's company was coming in reserve at 0720 hours.
Cook, who had been bent over a miniature cross that he clutched in his hand and speaking silently to God, opened his eyes and looked at Jennings. "I want to kill some Germans,"
Jennings, who was very morose and had a short fuse, began cleaning his rifle out of nervousness. "I have a feeling that when we get out of this boat, we won't have anything to shoot at, Cook." At that moment a spray of machine-gun fire hit the landing craft. Jennings cringed. "It sounds like we'll just be moving targets…. Are you okay Cooper?"
Private Cooper, an assistant flamethrower, was shaking so hard that his equipment rattled. "Not really," Cooper responded in a voice that was barely audible, "I'm not sure that I really want to be here."
"Join the club," said Sergeant Peters sarcastically, "stop being a little pansy and toughen up." Peters turned to Jennings. "Jennings, I don't think those guys even killed even a single damn German. And we're going to take it in the ass because of that."
Gonzalez thought he was right. As the craft approached the beach, he could hear the sound of machine-gun fire hitting the Higgins boat at various times, and it seemed that the Germans were blowing the hell out of the water with 88 millimeter shells. Gonzalez thought that it was a miracle that their craft wasn't hit.
The men fell silent again and began praying to God. They were approaching the beachhead. Gonzalez pulled his tiny cross out of his uniform pocket and clasped it between his hands.
"Lord, give me the strength to go out there and fight like a man," he said quietly, "and if you feel like you want to call me to heaven, then please watch over my family. Keep them safe from harm. And Lord, if I do die, let in be in the presence of your power, and lift me up to your kingdom. "
Cook elbowed him again. He handed him a letter. "Danny…if I, you know, don't report for duty tomorrow, then, can you please give this to my girlfriend? Tell her that I love her."
Gonzalez smiled. Cook didn't seem to realize that his chances of survival were exactly the same. But Cook had been his buddy since he arrived in England, and he had been dating his girlfriend since middle school, so he took the letter without hesitation and without saying a word. It was nice to know that someone trusted beyond all others.
Lieutenant Feltner, the nineteen-year-old platoon leader, was shaking with fear. Feltner was the same age as Gonzalez, and he was also a good friend of his.
"Peters, the platoon's yours if I get injured," Feltner said quietly to Sergeant Peters. Peters nodded, and the lieutenant then closed his eyes and began to pray.
After a few minutes, Gonzalez stopped praying again and looked over the top of the craft for the second time. He had forgotten his seasickness when he became nervous, but he became nauseated almost at once when he looked over the edge. They weren't that close to the beach, but there were all kinds of equipment and other trash in the water. That wasn't the problem. He had just seen someone's leg go floating by.
Gonzalez slumped back into the boat for a second time. He noticed that the British coxswain was having trouble steering the craft. It was obvious that they wouldn't be landing where they were supposed to be.
The men were silent as the Higgins boat approached the beach. They knew they would hit the sandbar soon, but it was a surprise when they did.
Gonzalez's mind went blank when the ramp went down. Without even thinking, he dove into the sea.
A/N: Thanks for taking a look at this. Just to let whoever reads this know that I have done a little research prior to writing this story. I don't have many ways to get information on the subject, and if you see anything untrue, then don't hesitate to tell me.