June 6th, 1944
D-Day
I looked over at Jennings. He was freaking out good style, the evidence gathered in the blood and vomit that caked his uniform. The other privates scrunched their noses, and leaned the other way as he sprayed yet another outburst of dark, yellowy liquid onto the floor of the craft.
I didn't feel too good myself. It was freezing, too cold for June, and I was soaked from head to foot. Every time I moved my head, water splashed off my helmet from where it had collected in the rim. My throat felt like sandpaper, and I already had a splitting headache. The uniform clinged to my legs tightly, bringing out the large muscles I'd built up in basic training. No one in this boat to impress in that way- except perhaps Lance Corporal Briny.
My eyes were kept closed too keep out the seawater that splashed up from the hull of the craft. Through the slits I could just make out the beach, Normandy. Early morning mist covered the large hills that overlooked the beaches, but to quote my CO: 'Jerry's sure to have something up his sleeves. So, look lively,' I was sure that he, Major Thomas-Waddington the Second, would be looking extremely lively right now, pondering on whether biscuits or fruit were better for the digestion with Colonel Baldrick. Sergeant Sexton and Corporal Rothwell, however, were pondering whether or not jumping off the boat now would prevent their legs being ripped to pieces by GPMGs.
We were being constantly rocked backwards and forwards by the force of the waves. No one escaped sea sickness, and a few more soldiers added to Private Jennings mess that mixed with the salt water, and swirled around our boots. The stench in itself made you want to heave.
The beach drew nearer, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught Corporal Smart crossing himself, and kissing a brand new pendant of Jesus on the cross. Amazing what the thought of being blown to bits can do to your average atheists. Knowing that crafty bloke, he'd probably sell it on, if he ever made it to Cherbourg. None of us were really expecting to do that, though. Most of us hadn't even bothered to learn each other's names.
'Excuse me..' Someone whimpered from behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see a scrawny private talking to the craft driver. 'I…I want to get off the boat,'
The driver ignored him, eyes fixed on the beach ahead. The private tugged his sleeve.
'Please, please turn the boat around, I'll-' he fumbled in his pockets and brought out some coins. 'I'll pay you…please?' The driver reluctantly looked over at the private. 'I won't be needing those' he yelled over the noise of the engine. 'Neither will you!' He snatched the coins and threw them over the side. The private freaked out, started kicking and screaming, then pleading to get off. He grabbed my shoulder. Turning to face the beach again, I shook it off. He kept shouting and screaming. Suddenly, there was a rush of Khaki and shouts: 'You want off the boat? Get off, then!' And with that, there was a loud splash. I peered over the edge to see the poor guy reaching up at me, terror in his eyes. With all that kit on him, he'd never make it.
'Okay!' Sexton was doing his speech. 'When we get off, meet up with your senior NCO, that's me. If I die, then report to your 2IC(second in command), which is Corporal Rothwell. If he dies,' he paused, 'well, if he dies, pray to Jesus a little louder, or hope you got ancestors related to Moses,' With that, he did a final weapon check. Suddenly, I realised that the beach was even closer now, too close. I could see why we were going in at low tide; the beach floor was covered with barbed wire.
'Standby! Standby!' The driver yelled. 'Opening craft doors!'
'This is it! Let's do it' One of the privates yelled. The doors opened. 'Let's do it, let's do it, let's-' His yell was cut off by a ting! sound as his head and helmet exploded with the impact of the GPMG.
'Go! Go! Go!' Sergeant Sexton screamed, as we poured out of the craft, knocking each other to the floor in an attempt to get out fast. One guy gave me a shove, then stepped over me. There was the sound of whistling, and a tremendous whoosh! The last I saw of him were a pair of smoking limbs, I couldn't tell if they were arms or legs.
'Oh, man…' I could hear myself yelling. 'Bombs, bombs! They got bombs!' A lance jack pushed past me into the crater where the bomb had hit. He gestured for me to follow, then suddenly went down with a volley of bullets.
Oh, man. This can't be happening. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna go to hell.
Frantically, I went to ground, making a body a smaller target for the Germans in the pillboxes up ahead. The other soldiers overtook me, but most of them went down like flies. As I crawled over on of the bodies, it grabbed my leg.I looked round to see Sergeant Sexton staring at me.
'I'm hit….' He whispered, too loud to hear, but easy to lip read.
One of the things about the Army is that you always have to stick your neck out for your superiors. You have to risk your own life, and probably get your leg blown off in the process. Then, when you get home, you have to watch some Toff get the VC for something pretty trivial while you get jack. God save the King. . If they're an officer, they're your superior because they have a piece of paper mounted in their dining room that says they've been awarded a commission by the king. If, however, they're an NCO (Non Commissioned Officer), they're your superior because they are combat hardened veterans.
One of the miracles about NCO's is that they have the most amazing grandmothers. Almost all NCO's grandmas are capable of running a mile and a half faster than the soldiers under an NCO's command. They can shoot better than the best marksman in the platoon, and can do more press ups than the fittest. Anyone who has ever met an NCO's grandma probably won't talk about the experience, but your NCO certainly will whenever he's teaching his Soldiers something physical.
Luckily for Sexton, he was an NCO and a close friend. After giving him the once over I could see a small hole in his thigh, where s stay bullet had got in.
'Is it bad?' He gasped.
'Not at all, mate.' I replied, trying to sound relaxed, and as if almost every man who joined the British Army wasn't on this beach in a messy heap. He grabbed my left shoulder, and I picked him up, and slowly strode up the beach.
Another NCO had said before D-Day that Allied and German soldiers would be praying to the same god, and killing each other at the same time. Most were reluctant conscripts, only doing what they told because it meant they wouldn't be packed off to Auschwitz. Maybe if they saw me carrying an Injure soldier, they'd leave me alone.
Maybe it worked. Maybe they were too busy massacring the others. But, I got halfway up the beach when I heard Sexton yell out to me.
'Huh?' I yelled.
He shouted again, but I couldn't hear him, their was a weird ringing in my ears. Quickly, I put him down next to some cover, and rolled him over.
'What?'
He grinned. 'I feel okay now' He replied, from the top of his voice. 'Thanks for saving me, but you know that all the 'for King and Country' stuff is a load of rubbish.'
'Yeah.' I replied. 'So, what? You think I thought you were the king?'
He laughed, a weird thing to do amongst the carnage. Then, he picked himself up, and leaned around the cover.
'How is it?' I asked.
'It's bad…' He looked around. 'Where's our platoon?' I glanced around the beach, and saw a few characters I recognized. They started waving at me frantically.
Huh?
One of them pointed at the sky.
'Sergeant, get up!' I yelled, and dragged him by the scruff of his neck. We didn't get far. I was already exhausted, running on adrenaline alone. My hand cramped up suddenly, and I let go, leaving him vulnerable to fire. The ground just behind him exploded, and I saw a spray of blood. He looked at me, right in the eye, a look of sadness on his face. There was the all too familiar sound of a bullet on a helmet and he went down, a red hot hole in his forehad.
He's dead.
I turned around, and sprinted away from him, away from the corpses, and away from the guts that lined the beach. I hit the sand dune where my unit was, hard.
Don't think about it. Just get on with it.
I shouldered my rifle and aimed it at the nearest pillbox, right where there was a slight silhouette of a German Officer.
Take aim. Breath in, out, in, out, in, out-
I fired.