Keep Running - Ian

Keep Running

By Ian

    The boat rumbles, we hear gun fire, the men vomit off the sides as bodies of their fallen comrades bump against the boat: arms, legs, and torsos floating in the water; the devastating result of human conflict. The waves crash against the little Higgins boat; I wonder who was stupid enough to design this little deathtrap with a propeller. I would give anything to be back home in Virginia with ma and pa. I was snapped away from my thoughts by a loud crack. We hear more cracks, then the bullet rain starts. The flak is everywhere, it bounces off the boat, into the water near us, and goes right into the ship sometimes. We all huddle towards the front, ready to drop. “This is it!” someone shouts, the gates drop. “GO GO GO LETS G-!” The officer shouts, he never got to finish his sentence. The machine gun mows half of us down within 10 seconds. We rush out of the boat yelling. I saw someone right next to me fall to the ground, blood oozing from his head. I keep running. I'm no religious man, but I pray hard that I don’t die.

    The beach is littered with anti tank traps. Puddles of mud lie everywhere. There is even a burning tank with some troops behind it taking cover. A small part of me wants to join them and just hide, but then I remember what I am supposed to do. Storm the bunkers and secure the beach. I took off and started to run to the bunker’s blind spot. A few others managed to join me. We gathered about 14-16 men then headed towards the paved road up to the resort village of Vierville-sur-Mer. But the exit was blocked. We realized this was not an option - our only escape was to scale the 30 meter cliffs. And so we started climbing. One man fell off the cliff and we never saw him again.

    At the top, more obstacles await us. Bunkers line the top of the steep 30 meter cliffs. German fortifications stretch everywhere, still firing at the unlucky troops below. “I feel bad for the lads down there,” the man next to me says. Then he takes a grenade out of his pouch, pulls the pin, and tosses it into the bunker. We hear a scream, a muffled explosion, then silence. The other men along the cliffs follow the example. More explosions are heard. As we make our way inland we meet more German resistance, as well as more friendly troops. Some get picked off, more join the party. Small firefights are happening everywhere. I hear gunshots, screams, and explosions all around me. It was pure chaos. Some groups survive and overcome; others who are not so lucky are killed.

    The end of this agonizing “longest day” is a big relief. The fire has visibly decreased. My body is exhausted and I don't have a single ounce of energy left. I recall all the dead bodies laying around limply on the beach and shudder. We sat in a small group next to a crackling fire in stunned silence. Not even the crickets are chirping. All we hear is the fire. It takes a while, but we start to chatter and talk about home. One soldier pulls out a faded picture, “I hope Beatrice is okay.” I mourn the loss of my brothers in arms, all the lives lost in this one day.

    War is not how people portray it. You have these companies making toy weapons, toy tanks, and army men. Imagine every army man had parents, a wife, and children. If you were this army man, killed off in the first wave, how would the parents feel? And how would the children feel? War is not fun; it's not a game; it's brutal, it’s devastating; and it’s dangerous. I look back at today's achievement. We succeeded in one of the largest amphibious assaults in history. We penetrated through the Nazis defense and secured a foothold for more troops to come. Hopefully, we will get to liberate France soon.