The smell of diesel, sea water and vomit was almost too much to bear. My stomach was doing cartwheels, but I couldn’t spew my guts up in front of the men, my men, 24 young men going to war for the first time. The landing craft engine chugged along, beating a relentless march to the shore. The sound was a welcome relief from the insipid silence that had come over the craft since it was clear their mission was a go. No one spoke, there was nothing left to say, every man had his own demons to face. It was a close knit unit, the men worked in unison in true military style. Look after you buddy and your buddy will look after you they said, but now fear weighed mercilessly heavy on them all. It was every man for himself. I knew they would fight, the training would see to that, but the fear of the unknowing, the gut wrenching terror of what lay beyond the metal front ramp was beyond reason and the fight for control took every inch of their concentration.
The near silence was periodically broken by a large wave breaking the side rail or by a young stomach letting go. No one complained, no one belittled, no one joked not even Private Kiplowski, the platoon joker, he too it seemed had no one liner for this turn of affairs. My holster at my side was empty my sidearm gripping tightly in my hand. I flipped the catch and out slipped the clip, I checked my revolvers magazine one more time, just in case I’d missed something on the other 17 checks this morning. I needed something to keep mind and body in check, my hands were shaking like a wino before breakfast, I had to control myself for the men’s sake.
“Two minutes” came the call from the landing craft pilot, “holy fucking shit here we go”. I don’t often swear, especially in front of the men, but if there was a time that ‘fuck’ was designed for then this was it. “Check your equipment” my voice held and a wave of relief passed through me, 22 years old and these 24 souls were relying on me to get them through this shit. I’d passed the first test, another deep breath, “you know the drill ladies, remember your training and keep moving up the beach.” The response was unacceptable for the parade ground, but this was about to get ugly and I let it slide.
The chances of us all getting through today alive was almost none, we were the first ashore, the forlorn hope they used to call it and come tomorrow I knew I’d be writing to a mum or a sister or a widow about how their boy Johnny fought for their country and died bravely. Hopefully I’d be around to write that letter.
And then it started. The terrible rattle of heavy machine gun rounds pinging off the front and side of the craft mingled with the crash of mortar rounds in the sea all around us. Each explosion causing huge fountains of water that crashed down on our heads. So the sneaking up on the enemy when they weren’t looking didn’t work, but I suppose it’s hard to hide 200 ships in the English Channel without someone noticing. Fucking efficient Germans, fucking wankers why couldn’t you have slept in this morning. The seconds passed, long agonising seconds and still we moved relentlessly on. Ever onwards towards..., towards what - oblivion or glorious victory?
The intensity increased and the crescendo grew, the gunners had their range, now we are fucked. And still the noise grew; the rattle of enemy fire on the boat was constant. My mind wanted to explode, to scream out the pressure that was building. I was desperate to run to get away from this madness. More noise, so much noise, then realisation dawned on me, that’s our boys firing back. Our cruisers and battleships had opened fire, hurling their one ton shells at the enemy positions. Up yours you Nazi scum bags I silently screamed to myself. The cacophony grew even more intense with the smaller ships now adding their fire power to the cause, perhaps we would prevail, we can survive, we can win. Come on Adolf bring it on.
The noise was now almost unbearable I could feel it in my chest more than hear it in my ears, so loud I could barely hear the call to ready up. 10 seconds more, the time had come, the weeks of drill and repetition, of running and shooting and practicing and shooting and running over and over and over. I took in the mother of all breathes, “Ready” I screamed as the adrenaline reached berserker proportions, a momentary pause and then the landing ramp crashed into the sea. Behold Armageddon, no time to think, time to die.
My journey to work was slightly less intense; roads were clear, no rain, no problems, easy day, job done. Time to go home. I’m in a good mood so my thoughts on Religion, the Americans and stuck up knobs can wait for another day. They make me mad.
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