cheddar cheese
Major General
This is a story I just wrote for my English coursework...I realise its not terribly accurate but im proud of it. Enjoy.
__________________________________________________________
The Diary of a Dead Man
"30 seconds!" Damn it. Now I was getting nervous. I didn't know what to expect, as this was my first combat experience. Perhaps this was a good thing, perhaps it wasn't. To be honest, I didn't care at the time. All I cared about was shooting the hell out of those damn Nazis. It's the reason I joined the Army in the first place.
"20 seconds!" Oh shit. I could hear men from the other boats being shot by the German machine guns. There were explosions everywhere, I was becoming confused. This isn't the sort of thing an 18 year old should be going through. I threw up, but I wasn't alone. Everyone was throwing up. I'd managed to smuggle some brandy into my hip flask; and I thought that now might be the last time I would taste it. I can honestly say it tasted like dog piss though, and it made me throw up again.
"10 seconds!" Right, hip flask away, focus on the task in hand. We'd been given strict instructions not to help any wounded comrades on the way up the beach, and if we got hit we were told to just lay there in the hope that we would survive until proper medical help could be initiated. My objective was to make it up the beach and rendezvous with the Captain by the embankment with the razor wire running on top of it that ran along the beach.
The doors opened. I was standing at the back, so I was comparatively safe from gunfire, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. EVERYONE in the first couple of rows got shot the instant the doors opened up. Understandably, I was sick yet again. In an effort to escape the German guns, many soldiers were jumping out of the side of the landing craft into the sea, but the sheer weight of their equipment simply dragged them under the water and drowned them.
Whilst all this was going on, I had figured in my mind that there was no way I was ever gong to shoot any Nazis from down on the beach, so I simply grabbed my gun and ran for it. Our landing craft was one of the later ones, so I thought the DD tanks and minesweepers would have cleared the beach of most of the mines, so I would be fairly safe. But I could see no tanks. This didn't change anything though, I still ran like hell. Everywhere was just a confusion of noise. The sound of the guns, planes, sea and explosions was immense, but above all that, the main thing I could hear was the sound of dying soldiers. It was horrific.
I kept running. Apparently, this tactic was the worst, as it left me open to being shot for longer. The ideal way was to run up the beach in stages, taking cover behind objects such as the 'hedgehogs' which the Germans had placed to obstruct the tanks. I didn't care about this; I was doing what I though was right. It worked. I dived for the bank, and ducked behind it as low as I could.
I sat there for a while, looking back at the area of carnage that I had just run up. Everything seemed to go into slow motion as I looked back and watched my just about defenceless comrades being peppered by the Nazi machine guns. I looked around, and saw my brother, Joe, running towards me. He was no more than a few feet from me, and safety, when he got hit in the stomach. I screamed so loud that I thought the entire beach would stop and look at me, but it was nothing more than a mere whisper in the sheer orgy of white noise that was Omaha beach. I wanted to go back and help him, every fibre of my body wanted to, but it was against orders, there would probably have been nothing I could have done and I would probably have got shot myself. I looked at him again; his eyes were rolled back into his head. He was dead.
I tried to put this out of my mind and looked around for my Captain, Fisher. I saw him waving at me about 30 yards down the embankment; he has survived. Still keeping low, I crawled along, through the blood and entrails of countless numbers of wounded and dead soldiers. For the 4th time in about 10 minutes, I threw up.
When I reached the Captain, he told me that a hole had been blown in the embankment about 100 yards down the line, and that I was to rendezvous with the rest of my platoon there. As I crawled along, I saw a fellow GI approach the bank. He dived, just like I had done, but as he landed there was a large explosion. He had hit a landmine. I stopped dead. That would have been me if I had been a minute or two earlier. I resumed progress, doing my absolute best to ignore what was going on around me and concentrate on my own actions.
I reached the bank, where I was to be shouted at by my lieutenant. Apparently I was late, which was odd as I thought I had done everything relatively quickly. Anyway, he said I had to run through the gap, where, about 70 yards up, there was a foxhole in which my platoon would be gathered. Without thinking, I just upped it and ran. This technique of simply running like hell obviously worked; for me at least, and I scrambled down into the foxhole. There were just two other there, Private Foss and Connaught, the sniper. Foss was injured and just seconds after I had arrived, a medic scrambled into the pit and attempted to operate on Foss' wounded hand. I asked Connaught where everyone else was, and he said they had run on, only to get mowed down by a German machine gun post on top of the hill.
Just then, Captain Fisher joined us in the foxhole. Connaught told him the situation, and was ordered by the Captain to pick them off. Connaught was an excellent sniper, and after just 4 shots were fired he gave the all clear. At that precise moment, a stick grenade dropped into the pit from nowhere. The Captain and I got up and ran.
I can't remember anything since then. Apparently, I had been knocked unconscious by the blast. Connaught, Foss and the medic had all been killed, and the Captain had sustained leg injuries.
When I woke up I was very cold, but I was on a stretcher on the floor, and it was dark. I then received the news that the invasion had been a success and that Omaha beach was virtually secure. A temporary camp had been set up and I was relocated to another tent. I decided that this was a good a time as any to write this war diary. I am now just about deaf, and I appear to have sustained a large cut on my left arm.
The floor has just started shaking, I can feel the vibrations but I can't hear a thing. I can only assume that some Sherman tanks are being moved around. I think I'll have a look outside the tent and see what's going on.
_________________________________________________________
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Cherry.
The following is a letter from the United States Army officials.
We deeply regret to inform you that your son, Private Nicholas Cherry, was killed in action on the 6th of June 1944. After having survived the initial storming of the beaches, Nicholas was knocked unconscious by the blast of a German grenade. He came around over 12 hours later, and was relocated to a tent in one of the temporary camps that has been set up. Later on that night, the particular camp Nicholas was staying in was attacked by a German Panzer division.
The next morning, Nicholas was found dead outside his tent by the Captain of his platoon, Terry Fisher. He had gunshot wounds, which leads us to believe that he was most likely shot by one of the German foot soldiers. Inside Nicholas' tent, the enclosed diary of your son was found and we thought it fitting for you to have it.
Captain Fisher reports that Nicholas was an exceptional soldier, who carried out his duties quickly and efficiently with no fuss. He was well liked within his platoon, and they are sharing your grief for this tragic loss. The sincerest sympathies of the United States Government are with you.
We are praying that the death of your son will not have been in vain, as the Allied forces are beginning to overrule the Germans, in this large effort to rid the world of Nazi tyranny.
Our thoughts are with you; from the Supreme Commander of the US Army,
Dwight D Eisenhower.
__________________________________________________________
The Diary of a Dead Man
"30 seconds!" Damn it. Now I was getting nervous. I didn't know what to expect, as this was my first combat experience. Perhaps this was a good thing, perhaps it wasn't. To be honest, I didn't care at the time. All I cared about was shooting the hell out of those damn Nazis. It's the reason I joined the Army in the first place.
"20 seconds!" Oh shit. I could hear men from the other boats being shot by the German machine guns. There were explosions everywhere, I was becoming confused. This isn't the sort of thing an 18 year old should be going through. I threw up, but I wasn't alone. Everyone was throwing up. I'd managed to smuggle some brandy into my hip flask; and I thought that now might be the last time I would taste it. I can honestly say it tasted like dog piss though, and it made me throw up again.
"10 seconds!" Right, hip flask away, focus on the task in hand. We'd been given strict instructions not to help any wounded comrades on the way up the beach, and if we got hit we were told to just lay there in the hope that we would survive until proper medical help could be initiated. My objective was to make it up the beach and rendezvous with the Captain by the embankment with the razor wire running on top of it that ran along the beach.
The doors opened. I was standing at the back, so I was comparatively safe from gunfire, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. EVERYONE in the first couple of rows got shot the instant the doors opened up. Understandably, I was sick yet again. In an effort to escape the German guns, many soldiers were jumping out of the side of the landing craft into the sea, but the sheer weight of their equipment simply dragged them under the water and drowned them.
Whilst all this was going on, I had figured in my mind that there was no way I was ever gong to shoot any Nazis from down on the beach, so I simply grabbed my gun and ran for it. Our landing craft was one of the later ones, so I thought the DD tanks and minesweepers would have cleared the beach of most of the mines, so I would be fairly safe. But I could see no tanks. This didn't change anything though, I still ran like hell. Everywhere was just a confusion of noise. The sound of the guns, planes, sea and explosions was immense, but above all that, the main thing I could hear was the sound of dying soldiers. It was horrific.
I kept running. Apparently, this tactic was the worst, as it left me open to being shot for longer. The ideal way was to run up the beach in stages, taking cover behind objects such as the 'hedgehogs' which the Germans had placed to obstruct the tanks. I didn't care about this; I was doing what I though was right. It worked. I dived for the bank, and ducked behind it as low as I could.
I sat there for a while, looking back at the area of carnage that I had just run up. Everything seemed to go into slow motion as I looked back and watched my just about defenceless comrades being peppered by the Nazi machine guns. I looked around, and saw my brother, Joe, running towards me. He was no more than a few feet from me, and safety, when he got hit in the stomach. I screamed so loud that I thought the entire beach would stop and look at me, but it was nothing more than a mere whisper in the sheer orgy of white noise that was Omaha beach. I wanted to go back and help him, every fibre of my body wanted to, but it was against orders, there would probably have been nothing I could have done and I would probably have got shot myself. I looked at him again; his eyes were rolled back into his head. He was dead.
I tried to put this out of my mind and looked around for my Captain, Fisher. I saw him waving at me about 30 yards down the embankment; he has survived. Still keeping low, I crawled along, through the blood and entrails of countless numbers of wounded and dead soldiers. For the 4th time in about 10 minutes, I threw up.
When I reached the Captain, he told me that a hole had been blown in the embankment about 100 yards down the line, and that I was to rendezvous with the rest of my platoon there. As I crawled along, I saw a fellow GI approach the bank. He dived, just like I had done, but as he landed there was a large explosion. He had hit a landmine. I stopped dead. That would have been me if I had been a minute or two earlier. I resumed progress, doing my absolute best to ignore what was going on around me and concentrate on my own actions.
I reached the bank, where I was to be shouted at by my lieutenant. Apparently I was late, which was odd as I thought I had done everything relatively quickly. Anyway, he said I had to run through the gap, where, about 70 yards up, there was a foxhole in which my platoon would be gathered. Without thinking, I just upped it and ran. This technique of simply running like hell obviously worked; for me at least, and I scrambled down into the foxhole. There were just two other there, Private Foss and Connaught, the sniper. Foss was injured and just seconds after I had arrived, a medic scrambled into the pit and attempted to operate on Foss' wounded hand. I asked Connaught where everyone else was, and he said they had run on, only to get mowed down by a German machine gun post on top of the hill.
Just then, Captain Fisher joined us in the foxhole. Connaught told him the situation, and was ordered by the Captain to pick them off. Connaught was an excellent sniper, and after just 4 shots were fired he gave the all clear. At that precise moment, a stick grenade dropped into the pit from nowhere. The Captain and I got up and ran.
I can't remember anything since then. Apparently, I had been knocked unconscious by the blast. Connaught, Foss and the medic had all been killed, and the Captain had sustained leg injuries.
When I woke up I was very cold, but I was on a stretcher on the floor, and it was dark. I then received the news that the invasion had been a success and that Omaha beach was virtually secure. A temporary camp had been set up and I was relocated to another tent. I decided that this was a good a time as any to write this war diary. I am now just about deaf, and I appear to have sustained a large cut on my left arm.
The floor has just started shaking, I can feel the vibrations but I can't hear a thing. I can only assume that some Sherman tanks are being moved around. I think I'll have a look outside the tent and see what's going on.
_________________________________________________________
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Cherry.
The following is a letter from the United States Army officials.
We deeply regret to inform you that your son, Private Nicholas Cherry, was killed in action on the 6th of June 1944. After having survived the initial storming of the beaches, Nicholas was knocked unconscious by the blast of a German grenade. He came around over 12 hours later, and was relocated to a tent in one of the temporary camps that has been set up. Later on that night, the particular camp Nicholas was staying in was attacked by a German Panzer division.
The next morning, Nicholas was found dead outside his tent by the Captain of his platoon, Terry Fisher. He had gunshot wounds, which leads us to believe that he was most likely shot by one of the German foot soldiers. Inside Nicholas' tent, the enclosed diary of your son was found and we thought it fitting for you to have it.
Captain Fisher reports that Nicholas was an exceptional soldier, who carried out his duties quickly and efficiently with no fuss. He was well liked within his platoon, and they are sharing your grief for this tragic loss. The sincerest sympathies of the United States Government are with you.
We are praying that the death of your son will not have been in vain, as the Allied forces are beginning to overrule the Germans, in this large effort to rid the world of Nazi tyranny.
Our thoughts are with you; from the Supreme Commander of the US Army,
Dwight D Eisenhower.
