The Chronicles of Able Company

by Kanuro5

This follows the exploits and ordeals of the ordinary men who rose to extraordinary occasions in the crack rifle company, Able Company, 29th Infantry Division, highlighting the individual men that made Able Company special. Follows the campaign of the first game from D-Day to to the end of the war.

2. The Captain

The Captain

June 6, D-Day, 0710 hours

"To be a leader means to be able to move masses"

John MacKay had always lived his life following his father's creed: "How can you expect anyone to follow in your footsteps if you cannot even take the first step?" He always wanted to be in charge and felt that he could accomplish great things as a leader. He followed his father's creed in grammar school, up to high school when he was the captain of the baseball team, and he still kept the creed when the depression forced him to not pursue college and made him join the Army. He planned to use the creed extensively with his rifle company once he went into battle. But as he was now sinking in the bottom of the English Channel, that creed seemed to disappear into obscurity.

The 30 year old Captain was in charge of Able Company, 1st Battalion, 116th Regiment, of the 29th Division; and his men were the spearhead for invasion of Normandy. This was their first time at war, with the exception of a few men, but Captain MacKay was in the majority of untested soldiers, this was their first trial of the war. Their mission was to land on Omaha Beach, secure the beachhead codenamed Dog White for the rest of the invasion force. They knew their mission wouldn't be a cakewalk, but it did not dawn on them how south a mission could go in a few minutes.

Able Company was met with fierce German resistance. Once the ramps of their landing craft fell, the soldiers of Able Company were raked by murderous machine gun and sniper fire from concrete bunkers on top of the cliffs at Omaha. And when they were pinned down and took cover behind beach obstacles and tank traps; German mortars fell from the sky and blew them away as they cowered behind cover.

The various landing crafts of the 1st Battalion were destroyed before they even reached the beach. The Germans installed 88 flak guns on the cliffs that could sink all landing boats attempting to get to shore. The waves were so high that support tanks for the infantry floundered in the channel. The men on the destroyed boats either died when their boats exploded, or they were pulled underneath the channel by their heavy equipment and drowned. The attack stalled and the men refused to move, yet there was no place to hide on Omaha Beach, not even in the water.

As the Captain was struggling to swim up for air; he could see the bullets from the MG42s whizz and hiss as they pierced through the water, leaving jets of bubbles in their wake. Yet despite his efforts, he could not swim up above the freezing water, his heavy gear encumbered him.

He tried his best to take off his damned gear as fast as possible, however he was eight feet deep in the water and the water itself made his moves too lethargic to remove his gear. Then the warning signs of drowning that he dreaded to experience, reared its ugly head.

He could feel his chest tightening and his vision was beginning to blur. He tried to flap his arms harder to ascend but it only made it worse. He was trained thoroughly in what to do when drowning was to occur, but the sudden shock of everything caused him to subconsciously forget all that he learned.

As he slowly began to accept his fate, a pair of two strong arms wrapped around him and began to pull him up. Once his head came up, the Captain gasped for air like he had just been punched in the stomach.

When he caught his breath, he was presented his helmet by his rescuer, who was none over than his most loyal friend in Able Company, First Sergeant Joe Conti, 37, from Brooklyn, New York.

"I got you, Captain! Ya still in one damn piece!" Conti yelled.

A few bullets rang off the beach obstacle the two men were behind. The Captain noticed that they were still in the water and that it was up to their waists. As one cold wave came in and hit the Captain in the chest, his sense came back with a vengeance.

The cold, salty water cleared up his nose and he was able to smell the patchwork of aroma all around him. He could smell the heavy salt content from the incoming tide and the mixture of gasoline and gunpowder polluting the air. He also smelled the foul stench of blood and death that seemed to be emanating from the shore in front of him.

He heard the distinctive screeching and crackling sounds of bullets bouncing off the tank traps and beach obstacles followed by the deafening boom of mortars which resonated throughout the battlefield. But the only noise that was louder than the weapons were those of the dying men. They were screeching in agony towards anyone who listened, sobbed filled pleas echoed on the beach for anyone to help them; some were requesting that a friendly bullet to the head would mean a lot. And if the wounded were not crying, they were cursing. They were cursing the Germans, Hitler, the Air Corps, the 29th Division Commander, Eisenhower, Roosevelt, God, their friends for being too scared to help them, and even their own parents for allowing them to go off to war.

The courage finally came to MacKay to take a look at the beach. As he raised his head, he could see the atrocity on the beach with full clarity. An enormous amount of debris washed up on the beach; discarded weapons, helmets, packs, destroyed landing craft, and even a good of amount of dead fish. Soldiers, young American boys lied dead on the sand. Most of their bodies were twisted and mutilated in the most awful of ways. Most of the dead were floating in the surf as bullets from the machine guns continued to riddle their bodies.

But the most appalling sight was of the men who were still alive. Those who weren't hit were cowering behind the beach obstacles as if they were little kids hiding in their beds from the boogeyman. The wounded were much worse. Scores of wounded were littered all across the beach. They were on the ground covering their horrendous wounds with their bloody hands as blood protruded from their mouths. The pain and grimace that twisted their face was enough to send shivers down the toughest man's spine.

"Captain MacKay, are you alright?" Conti asked the distraught captain, snapping him back to the task at hand.

"Sergeant Conti, where is the rest of Able?"

"I don't know sir! Some of the boys are on the beach, others are in the surf, and a good chunk of them are dead. There's Corporal Hernandez's squad over by that destroyed landing craft! Hernandez! Get your ass over here!" Conti called over.

Six men cautiously waded through the waist deep water and took cover behind several tank traps stuck in the water.

"It's good to see that you two made it," Hernandez said, crouching so low that the water came to his neck.

"Did you see anyone else from Able Company?" MacKay desperately asked.

"No, they're dead, they're all dead!" a panic-stricken Private Merrill muttered.

"Knock it off Merrill. But no sir, I didn't see anyone, most of the guys from our boat are dead; including Lieutenant Rogers sir," Hernandez answered in dismay.

"What's the situation Conti?" MacKay asked his loyal friend.

"The plan's gone to shit sir! Most of the fire is coming from those two fucking MG42s located in that bunker on the cliff sir. It's got everybody pinned down."

MacKay peered over the top once more and pulled out his binoculars and looked at the beach. He could see the bunker that Conti was talking about. It was approximately 300 meters away, made out of especially thick concrete, and he could see the yellow muzzle flashes of the machine guns firing out of the apertures. MacKay grunted in anger, the Air Corps were supposed to destroy all emplacements on the beach before the assault began. But by the looks of it, not a single bomb from the Air Corps land on Dog White.

"Alright men, we need . . . need to move forward," he hesitantly told them as he put his binoculars away.

"What?! Sir you can't be serious?" Pfc. Merrill asked him, his face contorted with confusion.

"Captain, we can't advance. There's too much heat out there!" another private chimed in.

"We need to move! The tide's getting higher by the minute. Pretty soon the surf is going to be up to our heads," MacKay retorted to his fearful men.

"Honestly sir I would rather take my chances with the tide than Kraut lead," Hernandez replied. The rest of his men agreed as well except for Merrill, who was too shaken to reply.

"Getting going forward! That's an order!" MacKay commanded with authority in his voice. But his men refused to move. The look of hopelessness on his men's face sent a shiver down the Captain's spine. He turned to his senior NCO to see if he could help them move.

"C'mon Sergeant Conti, let's get going!" MacKay told the grizzled Sergeant.

Conti remained quiet. He slowly turned his head and looked into his Captain's desperate eyes and muttered, "Sir . . . I, I . . . I don't think…"

MacKay's heart sank in his chest. His most loyal friend and toughest NCO that he ever saw, was paralyzed with fear. MacKay finally began to realize what kind of situation he was in. Seemingly half of the 180 men in his company were dead or dying and the rest were too afraid to advance. Able Company's morale was completely decimated.

MacKay realized that his situation was a dire one, but the survival of his men depended on him; they could give up, but he couldn't. It was his job as the Captain to motivate his men at all cost to complete the objective, and that objective right now was getting off the beach.

MacKay then remembered the creed that his father had told him: "How can you expect anyone to follow in your footsteps if you cannot even take the first step?"

Lead by example. He realized what he had to do. He realized what he was doing was completely idiotic and would get him killed, but if he didn't act…

MacKay calmly stood up from behind the beach obstacle and stared at his stagnant men. His face gave off a strong and secure vibe to his men, a face that showed coolness and bravery, the face of a leader.

"Men, if we do not go forward, we are going to die for certain. If we do go forward, there is only a possibility that we may die," MacKay calmly spoken up, his voice reverberating confidence and strength, "The rest of Able is dying out there, my men, your friends, are dying out there. And I'll be damned if die like a fish in this water! If you all want to live then follow me off this damn beach!"

As soon as he spoke the last word, the weaponless MacKay coolly waded through the cold waters and headed straight towards the beach; almost completely ignorant of the ricochet of bullets ringing off the beach obstacles.

"Captain, what are you doing? Hey Captain get back here!" Sergeant Conti called out. But MacKay tuned it out, his only focus was the beach of death that he got closer to with each step. With each step, the thundering booms of explosions and the shattering cracks of bullets grew louder. He kept walking upright at a slow pace until he finally began walking on the sand of the beach. The carnage on the beach that he saw from afar was multiplied once he arrived.

Dying men in shell craters were crying in unison for their mothers as they clutched their mutilated or shredded body part. The rest of the men crammed into any cover they could find, some men feigned death praying that the Germans wouldn't notice, other men were crammed into beach obstacles that deflected the murderous lead, and some were trying to dig trenches or foxholes for protection. Even though these men were trained to move forward on the beach, they were too gripped with fear to do anything rational. The adamant MacKay came to a conclusion of their bizarre behavior; they simply lacked leadership to tell them where to go.

MacKay took a deep breath and shouted so his voice carried across the beach, "Everyone, move forward!"

MacKay began walking forward through the onslaught on the beach, turning his head left and right to rally his prone men.

"C'mon Able Company, get the sand out of your boots and move! Hagen, why are you lying there? Get up and move Private Hagen! Let's go, let's move forward damn it! We can beat these Krauts if we just advance! Let's go! Middlebrook, Hudson, get off your asses and get going!"

The young soldiers were dumbstruck as they witnessed their Captain braving the bullets alone and walking through the flaming steel as if he was on a Sunday stroll at a park. Some men yelled for their C.O. to get down, some watched the spectacle in a shocked silence; others shielded their eyes not wanting to watch their leader get mauled right in front of them.

As MacKay kept venturing forth, he came across the only two men who were farther in on the beach (and alive) than the others. They were Private First Class Jeremy Troy, 23, from Alexandria, Virginia, a sniper that MacKay personally requested to be assigned to Able Company for the duration of the war; and Private Walter Blackwell, 25, from Dover, Delaware.

"I'm glad you two made it out this far, now c'mon and keep going! We're almost halfway there!"

"Captain what are you doing standing up? Get down or the Krauts will take your head off!" the sniper shouted back, pressing his head low to the sand to avoid incoming bullets.

"They won't hit me and they won't hit you, follow me!"

"Captain, listen to me!" Blackwell shouted, "What are you doing walking?! Run across the damn beach! You're a sitting duck!'

The Captain left the two and proceeded to walk forward by himself. At the moment, every single German weapon focused their barrels at him. A barrage of shells fell around him; blowing the sand high into the air and making the earth tremble beneath his feet. But he kept on walking forward. The slurry of bullets and tracers whizzed past his head and body; they began kicking up the sand beneath his feet in organized lines. Yet MacKay kept on walking forward. The men behind him stared in awe of how fearless their leader was; a shining example of what a brave soldier should look like. But MacKay wasn't feeling brave at all, he was absolutely terrified.

With each step he took, his knees felt weaker and weaker. With each shell that narrowly missed him, he cursed himself more and more for doing such a stupid action. A sniper fired at MacKay, the bullet seared by his right ear, he could feel the heat from it; and he could also feel that his bowels were beginning to loosen up. His fists were clenched so tight that the nails broke the skin on his palms. He wanted to go back. Dear God, he wanted to run back and hide. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't.

He had to keep going for his men to see, he had to take the first steps for his men to follow. He had to inspire them forward, that was his sole purpose as a Captain.

Halfway across the beach, MacKay spotted a 10 meter long ditch that was low enough to shield men from incoming fire. As he made his way, a long trail of bullets were kicking up the sand and was heading straight for him. With not enough time to dodge the bullets, MacKay closed his eyes and once again accepted his fate; praying that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

He was then tackled from behind into the ditch at the last second, evading the deadly trail of bullets. The tackler pulled MacKay's head up from the sand.

"Sir, excuse me for saying this, but you are the craziest bastard that I've ever seen!" Conti shouted at him, out of breath from sprinting forward on the beach.

MacKay looked up from the ditch and turned around to witness close to 40 men running forward through hellfire and jumping in the same ditch he was in. Cpl. Hernandez, Pvt. Merrill, Pfc. Troy, Pvt. Blackwell and the rest of Able Company on the beach joined their Captain.

"Glad you could all make it!" MacKay told his men, his pride escalating higher than the Empire State Building.

"I'll be damned if you die by yourself sir!" Blackwell spoke up.

"Hell yeah sir. That was the bravest thing I ever seen sir! If you can do it without a weapon, then why can't we?" Troy chimed in.

"Hell yeah!"

"I'm with you too sir!"

"That's right!"

To see his men rally under his command and conquer there fears was almost enough to make the 30 year old officer shed a few tears of pride. But there was no need for a heartwarming moment here, as long as they were still on the beach; they all could still be killed.

"Alright everybody listen up! We gotta get off this beach! We need to head to the shingles, it's about 100 yards away, they'll give us some defilade from that bunker!" MacKay informed them.

"Sir, shouldn't we stay here? The obstacles and this ditch are protecting us!" Merrill asked, terrified to cross the open beach again.

Blackwell replied, "Every inch of this beach has been pre-sighted for mortar fire. We stay here, we're dead!"

"Quick, somebody give me a headcount." MacKay ordered.

"There's 35 of us here sir!" Private Hoyt answered.

"That'll do. Listen we're gonna prepare to cross, standby to move out. Now is the time to clear the sand out of your weapons, make sure you all have equal spacing because I do not want to lose an entire squad to a single mortar round! We keep moving, and we don't stop! Everybody ready?"

MacKay looked over side to side and took note of his men. They were scared, some were even trembling; but they had fire in their eyes. They knew that in order to survive they will have to cross no-man's land once more. But if their leader did it before, then they could do it a hundred times over. They were ready, MacKay looked at his trusty Sergeant, Conti met back his stare with a confident smirk.

As the last torrent of bullets hit the sand above their ditch, MacKay crouched up and waved his hand to rally his men, "Able Company! On the left, on the right, MOVE OUT!"

The men followed their Captain as they charged through the exposed beach as torrents of bullets and explosions rained down on them. They kept moving, refusing to stop even for an instant. They began shouting at each other for motivation to keep on moving:

"Alright men, let's go! Let's go! Follow me into the shingles!"

"Let's go guys! We can do it!"

"Move! Move goddamn it!"

"Holy shit that one was close!"

"Keep it up! Dawson, pick up your damn feet and move!"

"Oh God, Bachman just got hit!"

"Keep moving; the medics will patch him up!"

"It's a goddamn firestorm out here Sarge!"

"Just shut up and fucking move!"

"Butts in gear; let's double time it!"

With the shingle in sight, Captain MacKay dived like a football player into the security of the shingle with his men following suit. MacKay looked around and tried to gauge the size of the men at the shingle.

"Conti, how many men are here now?" he asked the First Sergeant who jumped right beside him. Conti slowly raised his head and did a headcount he replied with 25; ten men were hit and laid dead or wounded in the 100 yard dash to the shingle.

All the men were almost off the beach, yet staying at the shingle was just as dangerous as staying on the beach. Although the men were right underneath the colossal bunker's field of fire; they were subjugated by mines and incoming machine gun fire from the rise of the hills. There were two MG42s to the right of the bunker behind sandbags raking the soldiers on the shingles. The men could not go over the shingles due to the large strands of barbwire keeping them out.

Two soldiers were rushing towards the shingle. A mortar round came in only a few feet behind them and blew one man into the air. When he came down, he was missing the lower half of his left leg and his left arm. The other soldier was only a few yards away from the where MacKay was at the shingle, but one of the MGs from behind the sandbags got him. Three rounds tore straight through his neck, decapitating the young man right in front of MacKay.

"What do we do now sir, those MGs are killing us! If they bring in mortars, we're history!" Conti said.

"I know! Damn it, we can't get through this barbwire. We need to blow that bunker! Where is Sergeant Mercer and his goddamn engineers?!" MacKay cursed, looking back towards the beach to see if anyone else was coming.

"Sir, I see the engineers!" Troy, the sniper, mentioned as he lied on his back with his rifle pointing near the start of the beach as he looked through his scope, "They're still in the water sir, but I don't think they want to move."

MacKay looked through his field binoculars and observed the same thing Troy had mentioned. He gritted teeth and growled, "Why the hell aren't they moving?! They need to blow the wire!"

Another young private from Able Company, Kenny Goldman, was dodging bullets and mortars to reach the shingle. However he was caught in a burst from the machine guns and fell dead as the MG42s continued to riddle his body with bullets until chunks of flesh began flying off of his back.

Pvt. Merrill shouted his name when he fell; when the Germans kept shooting his dead body, Merrill tried to get up to help, but was held down by his squad. Pvt. Merrill began to cry once more as he continued to shout his name for his best friend

"Fuck!" MacKay cursed in frustration at the sight of Kenny's death. He could hear Conti sighing hard behind him. Needless casualties were beginning to pile up at the shingle because the engineers were too afraid to cross the beach.

MacKay spotted the body of the decapitated soldier and took his weapon, the Thompson submachine gun, the ammo belt that went with the ammo, and three of his grenades. He took off all the gear that weighed him down and placed a fresh clip into his weapon. He leaned to Sergeant Conti and told him, "Listen Conti, you have the company for now. Just wait here 'til I come back."

"Wait where are you going sir?"

"I'm going to bring in those damn engineers."

"You're going back out there? Are you nuts?!" Pfc. Troy exclaimed.

MacKay ignored him, he crouched up from the shingle and carried his voice so all of Able could hear, "I'll be back! Hold fast Able Company!" And like that, he took off on a dead run across the beach as bullets were cracking near his feet.

As he was sprinting past soldiers still trying to cross the beach; he rallied for them to hurry up to get to the shingle. Through the arduous fire, MacKay made it safely to where the engineers were, the Captain found the 8 engineers and their section leader T/3 (Tech. Staff Sergeant) Adam Mercer were cowering behind a beach obstacle.

"What the hell are you doing back here? Move forward to the shingle!" MacKay berated them.

"Sir, there's just too much fire coming in! If one bullet hits our TNT we're all dead!" Mercer shouted, covering his head from the incoming bullets ringing off the metal obstacle.

"And if you don't move your asses to open up the draw, then all of my men are dead!" MacKay shouted even louder, "Now follow me and let's move!"

MacKay twisted back to head back to the shingle, but after five steps he turned his head around and noticed that the engineers didn't move at all. MacKay sucked on his teeth in anger as he walked over to the engineers; he flipped the safety off of his Thompson and fired a five-round burst into the sand in front of the engineers.

Their jaws dropped. They sheepishly gazed at the livid officer as the smoking barrel of his Thompson was pointed at their faces.

"I said get the fuck off the beach you sons of bitches!" MacKay howled in seething anger. Those engineers took off faster than a horse right out of the starting gate.

MacKay and the engineers' incredible pace did not stop on the way back to the shingles. Two engineers were picked off by a mortar round that crashed into them, blowing them to bits.

As they passed the ditch that MacKay was tackled into, MacKay noticed a medic working on the wounded. However, the wounded man the medic was working on was clearly dead, the lower half of his body was completely blown off. MacKay jumped in the ditch and recognized that the medic was Walter Conrad, 20, from Roanoke, Virginia.

Conrad was babbling incoherently on how he had to save the dead man. MacKay ordered the engineers to move ahead to the shingle as he stayed with the young medic.

"Conrad, its Captain MacKay, stop working on this man," MacKay told the bustling medic.

"No I can't sir, I can save him!" Conrad said frantically, refusing to take his eyes off the man he was treating.

"He's dead Conrad!"

Conrad took a moment and noticed that indeed the man stopped breathing. Conrad recoiled in horror and began shaking his head in disbelief. He moved to the left and began working on another wounded man who had a sucking chest wound. The wounded, semi-conscious man was propped up with his back towards the ditch with his bare head protruding out of the ditch.

"Conrad, leave him for the other medics! I need you! We have wounded on the shingle that need your help!" MacKay said, tugging on the medic's arm.

"No! I will not leave him! I can save him! I can save him sir!" Conrad snapped as he swatted away the Captain's hand.

A sniper's bullet found its mark. The bullet entered the back of the man's head and came out through the man's left eye; blowing his brains out on the young medic's chest. Conrad's jaw dropped as his eyes grew to the size of baseballs. He broke down.

"Fuck!" Conrad cursed as he threw his helmet in the ditch as tears streamed down his face.

"C'mon Conrad, we got to get to the shingle!" MacKay said as he pulled the sobbing medic out of the ditch that was being peppered by bullets and pulled him towards the shingle.

"Oh God sir everyone's dying and I can't do anything!" Conrad continued to cry in shame as he was being pulled through the various explosions on the beach.

"Don't worry Conrad, you can't save everyone, but there are men at the shingle you can save!" MacKay reassured him.

Once both men reached the shingle, MacKay rolled over to Conti (who was utterly speechless that he ran across the beach, got the engineers and made it back safely) and with a cheerful smirk said, "Told ya I'll make it back."

The engineer section was hard at work planting TNT charges around the wire at the shingle. The machine guns from the side of the bunker zeroed in on them and opened fire. One bullet penetrated an engineer's helmet and spewed the red contents of his brain on the sand. A few more bullets ripped through another engineer's stomach spilling out his entrails, he cried out in agony as he tried to keep them in his body.

The engineers reluctantly ignored their wounded comrades and focused at the task at hand. Mercer connected the last wire to the detonation charge and told his men to scatter. He ran towards MacKay with the charge and dived next to him.

"Mercer, blow the wire!" MacKay ordered as he brought his head down.

"Clear the shingles! FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Mercer bellowed at the top of his lungs. Every man that heard the warning buried their heads into the sand as Mercer blew the charges. A deafening explosion obliterated the barbwire of the shingle, creating a hole for the men to crawl through.

But the problem of the machine guns on the hill still remained. If the bunker had to be taken out, then the two MGs had to be taken out first for the soldiers to climb the hill.

"Hernandez, I want your squad to get low and put some suppressing fire on that machine gun crew to the far right!" MacKay commanded the corporal.

"Yes sir." Hernandez said in compliance. His men got organized and took precious aim at the MG.

"Troy, do you have a good line of sight on the machine gunner on the left?" MacKay asked the young sniper.

"Immaculate sight, sir. I can pop that Kraut's head off like a squirrel from here."

"Good, on my command you kill the gunner. Conti, form up everyone else that is not from Hernandez's 1st Squad and you open fire on the crew to the left after Troy kills the gunner. Mercer, prepare a satchel charge, and on my command I want you to heave it in the bunker's aperture."

The men got ready as MacKay took out a grenade and placed his finger in the pin. He looked around his company to see if they were ready, their confident stares gave him his answer.

"Everyone open fire!"

Troy shot first; his bullet went through the roof of the gunner's mouth and out the back of his head. As soon as Troy fired, the rest of Able Company opened fire on the left machine gun, pinning them down so effectively that the crew couldn't even reach the gun unless they wanted to die. 1st Squad opened fire on the right MG nest and effectively suppressed their gun.

Counting to five seconds in his head, MacKay ran out to a defilade at the base of the hill next to the base of the bunker and pulled the pin of the grenade. He threw the grenade into the sandbag of the MG nest to the left and watched the sparks fly. The sounds of screams in the nest confirmed it was a direct hit. Once it blew, he scaled the hill until he was perfectly leveled with the MG nest on the right side of the hill. He had the suppressed three-man MG42 crew in sight and opened up with his Thompson, mowing them down with his 30 round burst; they fell screaming.

Once both MG nest were neutralized, MacKay turned around and yelled down the hill, "Mercer, now!" With a lit fuse, Mercer carried the 9 lbs. of explosives up the hill until he was in a perfect position. He flung the satchel up and it neatly landed inside of the bunker's front aperture.

After five seconds, a fireball shot out of the bunker followed by the sounds of muffled explosions. The men who witnessed the fireball stood up from where they were, no longer under murderous fire; they cheered and whooped at the sight of their tormenters up in flames.

Sergeant Conti ran up partway to the hill and faced the rest of Able Company and rallied them, "C'mon you bastards, we still got Krauts clocks to clean! Let's go Able Company!" The men cheered once more and all of them began charging uphill; yelling, cursing, and letting out battle cries.

When Able Company made it to the top, they were treated to the sight of 30 Germans in full retreat to higher ground. All the surviving men of Able Company took careful aim and opened fire. It was a turkey shoot. Scores of Germans fell in a few moments as they were being shot in the back. There was one German who was retreating that Pvt. Merrill took aim of. The German was 25 yards away and Merrill shot him square in the lower back. The German fell to his knees in pain; Merrill took careful aim and shot him in the back of the head. As the German collapsed, Merrill yelled out to the dead German, "That was for Kenny you Kraut fucker!"

To make sure the bunker that caused so much havoc on the beach was clear, Captain MacKay and Sergeant Conti stacked up on opposite sides of the back door of the bunker in an attempt to breech the bunker.

"Sergeant Conti. Ready?" MacKay asked.

"Yes sir." Sergeant Conti entered the bunker guns blazing with MacKay right behind him. The two men sprayed their Thompsons at everything in the pitch black bunker, their muzzle flashes highlighting every little detail of the bunker, including the Germans that were being cut down. The ringing of spent shell casings echoed throughout the bunker until both men ran out of ammo.

Both men exited the bunker and sighed easy, knowing that the draw for Dog White has been open. And that the men of the later waves can get across the beach safely. But the resonating boom of two 88 guns went off in the distance. Both soldiers spotted the guns on top of the high ground where the Germans were retreating.

Both of them stared intently at the guns, contemplating how they can take them out and fully secure Dog White.

"We need to silence those 88's. Sergeant Conti, assemble half of the men and lead an assault on the first gun. I'll be with the other half and take the other gun."

"Yes sir. Alright everyone, let's do this," Conti said to his men.

Once the assault teams were formed, Able Company charged the ridge and effectively neutralized the 88 battery and destroyed all remaining bunkers on the ridge. A few men got hit, but they were efficiently treated by Conrad after he had recovered somewhat from his breakdown.

Once their objective was completed, MacKay radioed in Dog Company to hurry up the ridge and to tie in his flank. MacKay took a look at his men, they were wet, cold, and tired but most of them wore grins on their faces; for they were happy to be alive. Happy that they made it through the hell on the beach and hell on the shingle; and happy because they had a leader who led them through hell.

MacKay sat down on the ground and removed his helmet, contemplating on the past hour on the beach. He reflected hard on what he did and what he could have done better. But he brushed that aside in lieu of savoring this moment of survival; not of himself but of his men. The creed that he inherited had awakened the born leader within him which has saved his men.

"Here sir, you look thirsty?" Conti asked as he came from behind and offered the tired Captain a full canteen of water.

"Thanks Conti, but make sure the boys are okay first."

Conti began to chuckle, "They're fine sir, we're just worried about you."

MacKay took the canteen and slowly tasted the sweet, delicate water wet his throat. Conti sat down next to him and both men stared at the massive invasion force finally coming inland.

"That's quite the view," Conti said as he lit a smoke.

"Yes it is. Quite a view." MacKay allowed the silence between them to breathe, his eyes were locked on the floating corpses of the bravest Americans he had a pleasure to serve with. "Conti…how many men did we lose?"

"We…we don't know sir, but its damn devastating, sir."

"I see…maybe I could've—"

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself, MacKay. You can't. How does it look when the man in charge begins to doubt himself? I don't know what you could've done, but I know one goddamn thing sir, we are all still breathing because of you sir."

MacKay looked at the salty face of Conti and chuckled lowly to himself. "Yeah, if only alive for one more day."

"Hell, Captain. In battle, one more day is all you wish for. And you've given these men that."

The Captain exhaled, "Yeah, I guess so. But you know what, Conti?"

"What sir?"

"Look at the beach, look at what we did. I believe hell has opened up its gate."