Graeme

PARTONE


Chapter one- A Lonely Promise (First Person)
Chapter two- Implausibility (First Person)
Chapter three- Ready, Set, Go (Third Person)




Private Jack Anderson of the 1st Battalion, 116th Infantry Regiment, US 29th Infantry Division writes home to his mother the days before D-Day; the joint invasion of Normandy. He writes up to the point where he is forced to put his letters away when his platoon is assigned a landing craft on June 6th, 1944.

Corporal Heinrich Pluskat of the 352nd Artillery Regiment, 352nd Division keeps a journal right up to H-Hour on June 6th, 1944 when he is first to spot the horizon filling with all kinds of ships. He struggles to ready his machine gun position while concluding his thoughts in the journal.






CHAPT.1- A Lonely Promise

1600Hrs. June 1st, 1944
Coast of the English Channel, HMS Sterling

Dear Mum,
We were assigned our objectives yesterday and there are a lot of them. You may not be hearing from me for a little while because I’ll be quite busy with my duties.

We were in England at a hotel near the airport only a few miles inland earlier today before we drove down to the ships. We were waiting for the trucks to arrive in dreadful silence, reflecting on our lives. It’s dark out now, just like it was earlier at the hotel. Dark with sorrows and wet with pain.

Some were praying others cried quietly. Most would’ve laughed at them, but I knew what everyone in the room was feeling, I felt it too. These would be the last days we’d get to think about home, our moms, dads, wives and children before a series of exhilarating PEP talks and bottles of whiskey tainted the division into a bloodthirsty mob. Bradley, the CO, won’t even let us write home before we leave and has ordered us to simply study maps and charts. There was no need for that; we all know what has to be done. You probably won’t see this letter for a little while, but I’ll promise to get it sent as soon as possible. Since the invasion will be through with by the time I even send this letter, I’ll try to explain what exactly will take place. The British, Canadian and American forces will be invading Normandy on the 6th. We will do this by five separate beaches on the coast of France. Omaha and Utah will be taken by the us, my division has been assigned to Omaha under Commanding Officer Omar Bradley. The airborne will have landed before us further inland to block German reinforcements by capturing various checkpoints. Once the beach is secure we will await reinforcements then advance inland. I can only imagine what terrors await us at Omaha beach. I can only imagine the horrors.

We’d been in at the hotel waiting for a couple of hours now, the silence was interrupted a sniffling Pte. Barnes thinking aloud,

“My mom died 3 years ago, and my dad 3 years before that,” he spoke slowly as if unsure what to say next. “My wife..,” I immediately recalled him mentioning that his young wife had died in a car accident last month, “…She’s gone too.” His hushed weeping turned into sobs as he sat up, forcing the words out into the empty room filling with hurt, “You guys are the only family I got left so all you need to promise me that at least some of you make it up that beach alive.” I knew it was a rhetorical request, meant to be humorous perhaps but past the stream of tears dripping from Barnes’ face there was anything but happiness. Minutes after this speech, when we all resumed our previous slouching position I began picking out a few of the men with puzzling expressions on their faces. They’re faces altered back to their original state after mumbling a prayer. I had heard Pte. Jackson, whom was closest to me, asking for forgiveness and also for guidance,

“... Put on the whole armor of God that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand."
I know of this verse, Ephesians 6:11-1. But I now know the reason for it. Tim Jackson wants nothing more than to fulfill his friend’s, his brother’s request. The Sergeant was also whispering a bible verse to himself now, which I didn’t recognized but know that he too would do everything in his power to stay alive and keep his brothers alive. I too will try my best to keep them alive no matter what the cost.

By this time, the trucks had arrived outside with horns blaring through the open windows. All the men looked around as if wishing each other good luck and praying it wouldn’t have to be the last time they’d see each other.

The 116th Infantry has been together for years and has proven themselves several times in this war already which would be why we’d been chosen to be the first Battalion to hit Omaha. The brass has guaranteed us naval bombardment and air support; we will also have vehicles for cover and MG fodder. If everything goes accordingly then the 101st Airborne will have control of the CaenCanal and River Orne bridges to allow a quick advance inland.

The trucks screeched as brakes were applied and they bumped roughly to a stop. We were shown our landing craft and our transport to the coast; we’d be crowded in with a solid navy crew who’d be covering us as we advanced up the beach. ‘Plenty of room’ I thought as the tour concluded, ‘should do nicely’. It turns out I was right, our quarters are more than adequate for our stay. I’m outside now writing, enjoying the wet European spring for what could be the last time.

We’ll be staying aboard the ship for the next few nights while we waited for the other battalions of infantry and armor to arrive. We were first to arrive, the two armor battalions are scheduled to be here tomorrow plus the remaining infantry battalions late of the 3rd or early 4th. Then by the 4th of June there should be a full division ready to go. The navy and army had always had it’s differences but once I get to know the crew of our escort I’m sure there’ll be no one I’ll rather have covering my advance.

Later that night when we had gotten comfortable with our quarters Lt. Cox and I had a light conversation. Cox was in his bed reading when he slammed the book shut, producing an obnoxious *THUD* into the room. Ignoring our annoyed glares he rolled over and looked at me.

“Whadda ya think of dis here ship private?” He had asked me. The Lieutenant isn’t a great team player and lacks the common sense of most, this question surprised me as I wasn’t expecting to here more than, “Watch where you’re walkin’ asshole!” from him. He’s from New York and knows how to fight even if it’s not against the ‘right’ people. He’s a bit rough around the edges, I always think of Dad when I say that mom. It’s like he’s here watching over me. He always corrected himself with ‘…very rough around the edges’ which made him unique.

“Crew’s a little jumpy,” I replied then proceeded to tell everyone about my encounter with the gunmen earlier that day. “It was early, the morning of the 1st, only a matter of hours before H-Hour. I was taking a walk around the ship, marveling at its sheer firepower when I came across a group of men hanging around one of the ship’s many guns. I began asking about the operation of the guns, how they worked and about the ship and navy in general. They were taking turns explaining to me how the weapons operated and something suddenly struck me. I guess my questioning look was noticed because the 4 crew members stopped talking and stared, waiting for me to speak. Hesitantly, I questioned the weapon’s accuracy as if unsure of how safe it’d be to fire them at the same beach I was on. Obviously offended, one of the men replied by some smart remark but because of his thick accent I couldn’t understand but the other 3 found it quite funny. The laughter told me it was time to head back to my sleeping quarters and catch a few more hours of sleep before Commanding Officer Omar Bradley arrives.” The CO is a stickler for military etiquette and I was warned not to get caught in his ‘bad-books’ by the Sarge. “I didn’t want to start a fight with anyone, despite being in the army, so I simply turned away and walked back to bed. They would be covering me after all; I didn’t want to wind up a victim of FF just because of a small disagreement. They wouldn’t deliberately try to fire a shell at me even if they could pick me out from the hundreds of men going ashore. It was funny, and yet-”I shrugged the thought off and concluded my experience with the group.

“Navy dickheads think they know everything,” Cox commented. I’d be advancing with some ‘Navy Dickheads’ myself. All of us would and they’d be backing me up, even if I was advancing straight into hell, into an abyss of evil.

This will all be over by the time you receive this letter and if it is accompanied by a letter of my…status then I want you to understand how very much I love you and always will.

PS- I know you love me too
-Pte. Jack T. Anderson


4:00P.M June 1st, 1944
Coastal Defenses of Normandy

Heil Hitler!
Himmler has reassigned and split up our divisions to defend against a possible invasion. Our intelligence suggests an attack along the beaches of France is possible but is most definitely a simple distraction from another attack elsewhere. We’ve had Nazi spies operating in Britain for years now and know that the British forces have not coordinated excessively with the Soviet army which eliminates the possibility of a joint-operation between them during this invasion of France. Varlstang has informed me that even though a distraction it may be, we should keep a clear head in order to effectively keep the enemy at bay on the shores of Normandy. If there is to be an invasion at all, it will most likely be attempted the week of the 10th according to our friends infiltrating Britain’s counter-intelligence. The spies claim that the Allied armies have decided the date of the assault based on the weather which means they’re expecting bad weather the weeks before that of the tenth. I’ve heard rumors that our weather sources say that the Allies will have ideal conditions for landing from the beginning of the month until the 12th or so which is said to have caused quite a stir. This information was immediately disregarded by The Fuhrer’s advisors, so the story goes, and have blamed the un-synchronization of Allied to Axis weather reports on the incompetence of the Nazi weathermen. I hope they’ve made the right decision in disregarding this information as it will certainly have a great impact on the readiness of our coastal defenses.

Previously, I was stationed at a barracks on the border of VichyFrance. A zeppelin came and took me to Normandy with assorted elements of different divisions. We’d been fighting the resistance in Vichy for sometime and I was relieved to be getting out of there. I lost two friends last month to a French ambush and was afraid I was to be next.

The beach’s defenses are quite impressive and intelligence tells us that we will not be required to stop the advance ‘at all costs’ due to the confident belief that this is simply a diversion but we shouldn’t have much difficulty stopping them. How much man-power would they put into a simple diversion anyways?

I will be sleeping in the pill boxes on the beach and will be exchanging patrols with Varlstang every few hours and manning the MG if at all necessary. We are at the West end of the beach. The entire shoreline extends all the way down the coast of the country divided up only by various tributaries which will be targets for the Allied forces if they somehow managed to breakthrough the line of bunker and pill boxes which broadened the entire length of coast. Anti-tank emplacements were being loaded on as the zeppelin landed but armor was scarce. I had been told I’d be sharing a bunker with nearly 20 men, the thought made me cringe. However, so far only 11 are present and it’s not nearly as bad as I was anticipating. Varlstang filled me in on what the next few days would consist of; he had obviously been in something like this before. I learnt just tonight that he had defended Stalingrad when the Red Army has assaulted its shores from the River Volga almost 4 years ago. He had been behind a pile of sandbags as bandolier for his partner at the machine gun. Stukas pounded the Soviet advance, killing dozens every pass. The Soviet officers were shooting any of their comrades that had ‘taken one step backward’ which consumed the lives of many more men, thinking only of their wives and children at home perhaps or for their own safety. He told me that the MG emplacements eventually fell to sniper fire from the more experienced soldiers and that he was forced to pull back with the platoon into Red Square where they remounted their defenses.

“I remember one of the officers, Oetkor. He was at the radios calling in reinforcements when I noticed more Soviet snipers, flanking us from the surrounding buildings. I tossed the MG ammunition on the ground and grabbed a nearby rifle. I began to fire at the windows and the men in the buildings had disappeared when my eyes re-focused. I was about to make sure when my partner began cursing at me when his weapon jammed because of insufficient ammo feed. Seconds later he was on the ground with multiple bullet wounds. Instead of keeping my sights on the windows I dropped the rifle and dropped to the ground. I turned back to the windows to see a rifle end protruding out. Oetkor dropped to his knees with a Nagant round in his chest before my mouth had even opened to warn him. He was dead. That’s what war is I guess, one moment your friends are with you the next you’re covered with their blood feeling as though you’d just fired the bullet the killed them.” I could tell the Sergeant saw that some of the listeners were getting unnerved by his account and decided to stop then. Since it was our first night in Normandy, we’d been told that there would be no patrol tonight and to get our rest. I’m sure we’ll need it.

Graeme

CHAPT.2- Implausibility

0900Hrs.June4th, 1944
Coast of Normandy, HMS Sterling

Dear Mum,

We have two more days before the invasion begins; I’m nestled up in bed right now writing this. I’m thinking of that apple pie of yours and how I just long to be back at the farm and with you. It’s about 9:00 here now and apparently CO Bradley won’t be visiting our ship which is a big relief. Cox is sleeping and so is Barnes. Jackson’s reading, Znayme is eating. The sergeant’s staring at the ceiling and the Teras brothers are writing home. The two new members of the platoon, Petes and Tull, are walking around the ship outside and I’m thinking of you.

Sgt. Slaughter has been my close friend for years now despite the difference in our rankings. He reminds me of what dad was like, intrepid. Slaughter’s both stern but respectful and knows how to treat his friends. I wish you could meet him someday, that’s if we both make it through this. Rob Slaughter has been a close friend since I joined the military. He’s like a father to me; he’s like a father to everyone. He joined the military during WWI and has first hand experience. He used to live in Canada and fought with the Canadian forces at Vimy Ridge during the First World War. He’s shared stories of the battles at the ridge, using urine-stained cloth for gas masks against the mustard gas and heading ‘over the top’ to charge blindly towards the enemy trenches. His white hair tells carries the distinction of a respected officer and beloved sergeant. I have seen many conflicts by his side and not once have I seen him cower in fear. Not once have I sensed panic, alert or alarm. Not once, until now.

-Your Loving Son, JACK



9:00A.M June 4th, 1944
Coastal Defenses of Normandy

Heil Hitler!
Varlstang carries a sense of urgency. He’s ordered us to review tactics for a defense in the coming week. Although the invasion is speculated to start near the 9th or 10th Captain Varlstang expects us to be drilling each day until that point, independently. Johansson argued that without proper training facilities, the drills would be useless but was silenced by a steely gaze from the Captain. The Captains face was emotionless but his eyes told everyone who saw them that there lives would be dependant on these training periods and drills which confused us all. Nonetheless, most of us had kept our mouths shut. Most. Johansson had again contradicted the Captain’s orders in a burst of rage:
“First you tell us that the invasion is a fake but now you’re warning us that we might die if we don’t execute the defensive maneuvers perfectly? What am I supposed to believe?” The Captain remained calm, despite the sudden occurrence and replied coolly:
“Tell me Lieutenant, when did I warn you that your lives where at stake here?” Varlstang repeated the latter end of the question, “When did I tell you?”. Johansson couldn’t answer this question, Varlstang hadn’t told us. Well, his words didn’t but his eyes certainly had. No one could answer it, we had only assumed. It’s the correct assumption, but the Captain’s argument held up as a simple avoidance of Johansson's defiance. The climax of the conversation had been reached, the rest was downhill or so we all thought until Johansson continued to challenge the Captain,
“Don’t give me that crap Captain; I demand a final consensus on what hell’s going to happen this week!” Varlstang’s eyes narrowed on the Lieutenant and a swirling ring of fire encircled them. Varlstang had been cleaning is rifle which he placed to the side and stood up to face the Lieutenant. Seeming oblivious to the rest of squadron’s presence, the Captain stepped towards Johansson and shot an arm out to grab his victims shirt and took another step towards the wall, bolting the Lieutenant against it.
“I hope this will be the last time you give orders to me in front of my men, Lieutenant, for your sake.” The Captain said quietly with a fierce tone which made Johansson’s face turn pale, very quickly. With that, the Varlstang’s eyes returned from their scorching stare to normal and he withdrew his hand from his Lieutenant’s collar. I know I haven’t seen the Captain act this strange and am fairly sure no one else has but whatever the reason is, I’m not entirely sure I want to know it.

We had proceeded on with training as usual even though everything was anything but. A few muted tones of laughter were answered by a violent shove and a harsh,
“Shut up, pig.” From the Lieutenant once the Captain had disappeared into the bunker. Most of our equipment stayed in the bunkers on the beach while we trained half a mile inland at a make-shift training facility. The MG 34s and MG 42s were mounted at the bunker windows as well as lower-grade ones at the training facility for those more inexperienced with the weapon to familiarize their selves with it. The MG 42 replaced the ’34 during the war and used special manufacturing techniques to speed up the building process. Like most Nazi weapons, it carries a crude finish and has also a distinctive sound which identifies the unique weapon. It weighs approximately 67lbs with its tripod included. Its range is about 2000m and has a high rate of fire compared to most at a muzzle velocity of 756m/sec. Both MGs carry 50-round belted ammunition. Howitzer crews can get some practice with the new models here too, the anti-tank teams have been told that the landing craft used by the Allies will have light armor and will have a tight formation. The force used to assault this section of beach will be decimated immediately by the 10.5cm anti-tank crews which will direct their fire to the backs of the landing craft to perhaps flip the craft and hopefully score some kills on nearby crafts from either direct explosions or shrapnel.








0600Hrs.June6th, 1944 – D-DAY

Dear Mum,

We’re being assigned landing craft now, this is D-Day, Operation: Overlord, H-Hour. This is the real thing. The excitement began early this morning, my eyes snapped open and my arms hoisted my tired body up. It was dark, around 2 or 3 in the morning. I looked around, a few others were awake and had their hands cupped around one hear as if straining to hear something far away.

“What is it?” I whispered. The response had been plain,
“Shhhhhhh!”

I could just make out Sgt. Slaughter pointing his finger to the ceiling, to the sky in the moonlight. Then I could hear it, American aircraft and inside them would be pathfinders. Paratroops who were about to be dropped ahead of the main force to set landing beacons for the core strength to land. Waves were splashing up against the ships walls while it was cutting through the spring waters to its objective. I was drifting back to sleep only moments later.

I think it was about 0500Hrs when this happened. We were all kitted up and ready to go. My kit is lighter than most. I carry some food, water and first aid kits in my bags. Ammunition for my Springfield is carried in my jackets breast pockets. My rifle has a long strap so it can be stored over my shoulder. The brass isn’t sure whether or not the Germans will try to use chemicals, so they’ve given us new wool uniforms which are supposed to eliminate the risk of chemical penetration. Our boots are supposed to be somewhat water resistant and chemical proof. Everyone has inflatable life jackets and is equipped with the British Assault Jacket which has plenty of pockets and clips. The jerkin is an olive-tan mix which may give us some camouflage on the beach. The clips are used to hold canteens and first aid pouches. The demolition teams have pouches for mortar ammunition or rifle grenades but the riflemen carry an M3 knife instead. I’m also carrying ration heating units, water purification tablets, phosphorus, smoke and fragmentation grenades, a quarter block of TNT, raincoat, entrenching tool, compass, wire cutters and a picture of you and dad. I’ve got an M5 Gas Mask around my neck and an M1 Steel Liner, two piece helmet on my head.

It’s now 0600Hrs; H-Hour is scheduled for 0700Hrs which means I’ll be assigned a landing craft any second now. We’re crowded around outside on the main deck playing cards, smoking or writing in my case. Sgt. Slaughter has just come up to the main deck. I’m going to see what he wants.

He gave me a helmet shell to replace my current one. The shell is the outer part of the helmet that bears an insignia. The substitute shell is blank; Rob explained that it’d be harder for enemy snipers to find me on the beach this way.

Names are being called now. We’re getting into the boats. We were to begin landing just after 06:30Hrs. The airborne should’ve have reached their objectives by now. The kits have been triple checked and we’re being assigned landing craft. Maybe they won’t have enough boats; maybe I won’t have to do this after all!

“PTE. JACK ANDERSON, Slaughter’s craft- NOW!” My hopes were shattered just as fast as they appeared and I stepped down carefully into Sgt. Slaughter’s landing craft. Luckily Barnes, Jackson, Petes, Znayem, Slaughter, Tull, Teras, Teras and Cox and I are all in the same craft. I know most of the men but the rest I don’t recognize, emergency reserves I think. The 116th's assault companies are supposed to hit the beach in 24 landing craft. Each landing craft holds 30 men, who are divided into rifle, wire-cutting, machine-gun, mortar, bazooka, flame-thrower and demolition teams. The 6 men at point will provide covering fire with their M1A1s while the rest assaulted the shoreline. There are a lot of things going through my mind now but I need to put my papers away; I just don’t think I’m ready to do this. I’m not ready to die yet. Mum, I’m not ready!

6:00A.M June 6th, 1944

Time is short. I was on patrol earlier this morning at around 3:00 when I heard aircraft, American or British I think, overhead. My patrol of the beach ended at 5:00, I was in the bunker at that time. I ran to the sleeping Varlstang who was to relieve me from patrol now. However, I did not go running to him because of this. No, I rushed to his side to tell him what I had just seen. He awoke; apologizing for his lateness in relieving me and I nearly pulled him from the floor and rushed back to the tapered slits of a window in our bunker. Just as I did moments before, he took a single glance then rubbed his eyes. I believe he did this not because he didn’t believe what he had just seen but because he wanted to fully experience the phenomenal sight that lay off the coast. There was no denying what was there. He squinted at the spectacular prospects before him then rushed back to the bunks. Only seconds later he dashed back from the innards of the bunker, bringing half the platoon with him, and some binoculars. After peering out into the ocean, the men present held there breaths as Varlstang lifted the binoculars to his eyes to confirm what everyone was looking at. Quickly but methodically Captain Varlstang adjusted and focused the binoculars then brought them back down, appearing almost traumatized by what he’d seen.
“My god, it’s the invasion.” He said dully. Captain Varlstang staggered backwards and looked ready to collapse when he turned to exit the bunker to wake the others. Lieutenant Johansson ran to the radios while the platoon began a frenzied grabbing-contest for the binoculars. Ships of all sorts were visible on the horizon line. This was no diversion, this was the real thing and everyone who saw it knew it. Every few minutes someone else was at the binoculars and updating the bunker while the rest of us readied our defenses. The Lieutenant stormed back upstairs from the radio a couple of minutes ago, cursing under his breath. When someone asked him what he’d heard from HQ he told us that they’d abandoned us. I can see landing craft, a few dozen men in each perhaps and few giant ones with an equal number of armor and assorted vehicles.
“Ready the mortars!” someone just screamed from behind the wall.
This is the real thing. This is the real thing.









CHAPT.3- Ready, Set, Go!

“Holy sh----, a random voice cried from a nearby landing craft (LCT), his last words were cut short by a screaming mortar colliding with the rear end of the his craft.

“Cover your faces, damnit!” Sergeant Slaughter shouted from the back of his LCT as the 30+ men in the boat were showered with water, shrapnel, blood and a few grotesque assorted limbs. From behind the crafts, the battleships roared while letting loss their full destructive potential as the 21 (originally 24) LCTs raced to shore. *BOOM* the guns thundered, then again and again. Smoke billowed from the cannons while sand leaped from the beaches seconds later as the shells found their marks. German snipers concealed themselves wherever they could and mortar teams- loaded, fired, reloaded- their launchers from atop the bunkers. Anderson reached inside his assault jacket and from within it drew a plain picture of his parents and silently, as much so as one could amidst the bark of the guns behind them and the shrieking explosive dropping into the water and on them, vowed to one day return to them whether it be in this life or the next.

Pluskat made the final adjustments to his machine gun’s sights. The walls of the pill box shook as the mortar teams above them fired off their remaining shells with an idiosyncratic *THUNK-a*, unique to the mortar launcher. Flashes came off the horizon, smoke escaped from distant barrels into the air as shells
“INCOMING!” Pluskat, Varlstang and the dozen other men standing in the bunker were flung backwards like rag dolls into the wall. Dizzy and with clouded vision, the Corporal scrambled back up to the still-standing forward wall. His head pounding from multiple wounds to the skull, he balanced himself on his machine-gun and grasped the trigger.

A single Springfield rifle was drawn, it was Anderson’s. Precisely loading each shot, he tried to steady his sights on some of the mortar teams who’d decreased their LCT count from 24 to 17 in their run to the shore. His finger tensed on the trigger, little harder, little harder. The crack from the rifle was hardly heard and the recoil was lost in the waves. Ignoring the misshapen noises of sea-sickness around him he squinted to see what damage he’d done. He followed what he thought to be the bullets path carefully to the top of a-
“Direct hit!” Cox called out, as the bullets resting place ignited in a spray of rubble concrete, sand and smoke. To Anderson it had appeared that his shot had something to do with the explosion but to everyone else including the battleship’s crews, the depletion of a large portion of one of the bunkers was thanks to the howling screeches of the ship’s guns which continued to fire upon the beaches, hoping for another direct hit.

“Ughfbsalro!” Varlstang screamed in Pluskat’s direction. “Puoghkap!” he called again. “Plohfkat!” one last time before Pluskat’s hears rung back into proportion. “Pluskat! Help me to the machine guns!”

Anderson’s sights were somewhat centered (if there was such a thing under the current conditions) on the damaged pill box. Through the dust he saw a Nazi machine gunner slouching over his machine gun who eventually turned his head towards the back of the bunker where the Private’s vision ended. Without hesitation, Anderson let loose a shot in the machine guns general area as the German turned and walked into the smoke.

Corporal Pluskat stumbled in Varlstang’s direction, feeling his way through the dense curtain of smoke and dust. *PING*, he turned to see sparks fly off his MG 42 and the cause of the spark ricochet into the concrete walls with a cracking noise. Naturally, he hit the ground. This turned out to be an excellent decision for three reasons: First, he avoided more sniper fire from the boats this way, two he could now somewhat breathe as the smoke rose and three he could see much more clearly which eventually led him to the boots of Captain Varlstang.

Barrage after barrage pounded the beaches as the black-uniformed infantry men struggled to repair the damage. Anderson felt a shot whiz past and turned to see Cox crumple to the floor, his hand on his own bloodstained chest. Trying to ignore the death of his friend, which was remarkably hard to do, the Private fixed his sights his former target area. The boats were to close for mortars now, the continuous *PLUNK* of shells missing their targets had dissipated into the salty air around them. Slaughter came down from his perch at the back of the boat and strode forwards as the craft neared the shoreline. Anderson felt the sergeant’s big hand grab his shoulder and despite not having eyes in the back of his head, Jack Anderson could perfectly visualize the sergeant looking down at his own hand. He wouldn’t be looking at me, Jack thought, no, he’d be watching his wedding ring reflect the morbid scene into his eyes. The ring would flicker from the sunlight reaching over them; the scratches on the metallic surface would become visible for a moment then disappear. In those scratches, Jack thought, were a million memories that were most likely flashing through Rob Slaughter’s mind right now. Like a silent movie, reminiscences filling his nostrils as they all took a deep breath.
“Open the ramps!”

Graeme

Pluskat tried to remove Varlstang’s fate from his mind. He’d found him cornered by a collapsed wall and had only began to free him when the walls Varlstang had supported himself on caved in, crushing the Captain mercilessly. Heinrich had crawled back to the seemingly invincible forward wall of the bunker and steadied his MG on the craft as they prepared to let down their ramps. The ramps dropped with a thud and the terrified American soldiers, no not soldiers, Pluskat thought. American barbarians, he corrected himself relating the Americans to the brutish and often dumb medieval warrior. The terrified American –barbarians- dove out of their LCT’s looking for obstacles to hide behind. He squeezed his fingers down tightly, bracing for the kick-back as he did so. The gun shook as a flash spewed out the barrel. Heinrich gritted his teeth and leveled the machine-gun to anticipate evasive maneuvers by the some what intelligent barbarians. His nostrils flared rabidly, his teeth clenched tighter and tighter as his eyes widened in, Pluskat tossed various words around in his head, revenge, he finally decided on.

Anderson watched at least 4 men in front of him fall to machine gun fire before a hand tightened on his jacket and pulled him upwards. Slaughter had a tight hold of Anderson when he hopped up on the side of the boat, staying his low has he could, and dropped into the cool ocean water. Looking up, Anderson noticed that he and his squad would be attacking the damaged bunker. He and Slaughter, and a few others, had landed chin deep in the water. Znaeym too had followed Slaughter over the edge and was attempting to let the waves carry him to shore as he floated on his front, ‘playing’ dead. The sergeant anticipated the re-direction of machine gun fire to be at them as he instinctively grabbed me, again, and hugged the edge of the beached LCT. The water had indeed turned to blood. A lot of it from Znaeym’s exposed back as the machine gun strafed across the waterline in between the landed LCTs. Luckily, for us, our LCT had landed near perfectly straight in line with the damaged bunker which meant you could cut the MG’s line of sight by keeping your back to the LCT.

There, in the water! Pluskat thought has he peeked through the thick wall of smoke from the damaged bunker. He watched his machine gun tear through a dead body as it floated to shore and noticed a few others duck behind their LCT. He glanced sideways to see his allies MG-42s spitting out similar breaths of inferno from their long barrels. Everyone in the landing craft he’d been firing upon, which was conveniently straight ahead of him, was now no more than a twitching mess of arms, legs and heads. Pluskat smiled, he didn’t know why but he knew it just felt right to smile at the time. Ah, the sweet sweet taste of revenge, he thought.

Jack hesitated to follow the sergeant’s orders, but he knew that they were the only way to get up the beach at the moment. The private had to hang on the edge of the LCT as he floated around the back end of the craft and to the other side. He waded in until his feet touched bottom and withdrew his sniper rifle.

Heinrich watched the other machine gunners slowly turn their weapons towards the few stray infantry running up the beach from obstacle to obstacle. Once the advancing ‘barbarians’ were eliminated the 2 neighboring machine guns focused their fire on the second (or third, the corporal didn’t know) wave of landing craft. He had been distracted by searching the water for smoking ruins of the tank carriers, he found many. So far none had made it to shore. Pluskat was so distracted by this that he failed to notice a young sniper steadying his rifle and his finger placing itself within the trigger guard.

The click of the trigger slamming into the fine wood sounded quite loud to Anderson, the ‘crack’ that rang out even more so, as the bullet flew from the barrel. There wasn’t time to take a second shot, or even look what he’d hit. The nearest pill boxes had converged on their area, thanks to the second wave of landing craft.

Again, men piled out of their craft but Corporal Heinrich Pluskat of 352nd Artillery Regiment, 352nd Division was not there to see it. Instead, his body lay crumpled on the floor of the pill box, blood spreading into the smoky atmosphere from his lower neck. The infantry was struck with machine gun fire just as before, but by one less machine gun. Half of the men had made it into cover this time, just before back up machine gunners appeared over Pluskat’s body and took over his position.

Slaughter was already a quarter of the way up the beach, rifle in hand. Pte. Anderson trailed him, advancing with the main force. Another series of great blows struck the beaches, delivered from the powerful guns of the almighty battleships. Sand exploded over the pill boxes and beach, Americans and Germans alike.

Pluskat’s replacement quickly changed the barrel of the MG-42 (to avoid over-heating) and began to individually search out American infantry charging up the beach. There were quite a few now as Pluskat died several minutes ago with no one to immediately take over his position.

Jack and Rob (Slaughter) were huddled together beside a beach obstacle, eyeing a crater in the sand for better cover. The sergeant went first as other fine American soldiers charged past, to their assured dooms. Staying low, the Sergeant made the dash into the crater as Jack watched in utter terror. Machine gun fire was all to be heard. The climatic pandemonium thundered the darkening skies as more craft landed and more soldiers piled out onto the beach.

Ludwig’s eyes spotted an American running for a crater and adjusted his fire accordingly. He also saw a younger one leaning out from behind a beach obstacle, ‘you’re next’ he thought.


A stream of MG fire forced Jack to duck back into cover, it followed Slaughter. The bullets kicked up a visible trail of sand as the machine gun rotated towards the running Sergeant.
“Sarge! Look out!” Anderson screamed to his friend. The sergeant dove into a large crater as the machine gun fire narrowly missed him and stopped abruptly.

Sergeant Ludwig Vonstrappen cursed under his breath as his target disappeared into cover. However, as he rotated the gun back to his next target a third soldier crossed his sights.

Anderson was about ready to make the run across to Slaughter himself when another private swooshed by him at full speed. Jack watched the man stumble, but remain upright as he was now half-way, no, more than half-way. Get lower, you! Jack thought as the Private slowed up at 3 quarters from Anderson’s cover to the hole.

A twisted grin crossed Vonstrappen’s face, his sights locked on target. He thought he’d give the Americans some hope of making it to cover safely then pounce at the last minute; this is exactly what he did.

The sergeant was screaming at the private to “Hurry the hell up, and get in the hole!” as the slightly overweight man jogged the last few feet. Jack swore he could feel the entire beach shake underneath him as he attempted to dig himself deeper into the sand when the machine gun started up again. A wave of fury flew over them that day. A young private and his outstretched hand with an old sergeant and his outstretched hand, both grasping onto the other tightly, both hoping and praying that the private would make it into the hole alive.

Vonstrappen felt himself yell, more of a roar actually, uncontrollably and eyes light up with bloodshot veins coursing around his pupils. The stream of fire tore the unknown enemy apart. Ludwig thought he saw a flinch but he couldn’t have been sure for his eyes saw only a dark figure lying on the beach encrusted in the very flame of his anger. His peripheral vision narrowed, tunneled on his victim.

There were no desperate, ‘Noooooo!’s’ involved from the sergeant. Nor were their tears. There was emptiness that would never, perhaps, be filled again. From across the beach, Anderson could see the Sergeant glance at his hand and at his ring again. Just now, here and now there would be another scratch added to that ring. Another scuff that would overflow with the blood of his friends for ever and ever, a marking to remind the sergeant of what he had seen today and what he’d accomplished or what he didn’t accomplish. Jack thought of his own mother, but then of the sergeant and his wife. He decided right then that if it came to him or Robert J. Slaughter then by the lord, he’d go first and willingly so. Perhaps it’d fill one of those dark, negative scrapes or perhaps add another but either way Pte. Jack Anderson would do it.
“To the seawall!”

The seawall was the section of the beach where a short dune would be a good source of cover for the attackers. The seawall dune rolled onto the shelf, a flat open area where the sand reeked of Death. German lines were filled with reinforcements with almost double the firepower. No sooner had the Nazi fortification teams arrived; the Allies began their charge to the seawall.
“Kill them all! Do not allow them to proceed!” An officer ordered his bunker as the lead gunner (Vonstrappen) finished replacing his over heated barrel.

“Anderson, use your Springfield and cover me!” Slaughter shouted at the private. The sergeant brought his rifle to bear with Anderson and squeezed the trigger rapidly, releasing suppressing fire for his men before he too joined them. The troops dashed from cover to cover, wherever they could find it attempting to arrive safely at the seawall. A frenzied crossfire of bullets crushed nearly all of the advancing force. Private Znaeym appeared beside Jack. Znaeym carried a standard issue flame thrower which be able to eliminate the machine gun teams in the bunkers.