Post by Daniel Brennan on Feb 3, 2008 10:58:33 GMT
Noo version! If you don't like it, I don't give a damn. 
The small grey landing craft sliced through the grey waves, as if they weren’t there at all. Well, at least it looked like that from the outside. The people inside knew all about the waves.
Private William “Bill” Blake looked behind him at the sound of someone getting sick, for what must have been the fiftieth time. The blue and grey Chinese taijitu of the 29th infantry Division was clearly sewn into his shoulder. He sighed, then turned back to face the front of the boat. They had just left the transport ship which had taken them from England, and they were now out in the channel somewhere, near the coast of Normandy.
Bill reached into his jacket and pulled out his canteen of water. He held the cold metal in his hand for a moment, before twisting the cap off and taking a small refreshing drink from it. He couldn’t drink too much. He had to save most of it for the beach.
He could hear the ships behind them, bombarding the beaches and he could hear the distant sounds of German “88” guns returning the fire.
Bill’s interest turned towards the front of the boat, when he heard Captain Holmes speak up. Holmes went on about how they were to keep moving up the beach, never turn back, never stop moving, but Bill was hardly listening. He held up his rifle and checked was it fully loaded. The sounds of an MG42 could now be heard clearly, and there was a dense layer of grey smoke in the distance.
The landing craft was lifted up by a large wave, and Bill nearly vomited at sight of the lifeless body of a fellow soldier floating past. His face was down in the water, so Bill was unable to see his eyes, but he did see the huge bullet holes which had been torn into his back. Bill slid silently back down into the boat and didn’t look up when another man noticed the body, and brought everyone’s attention to it.
When Bill had first joined the army, he had been exited, and full of life and energy. The gruelling training and miserable lifestyle soon brought him back to reality. When he had first heard that he was going to be taking part in the invasion of Normandy, his hopes had started going up again, and he was happy to be going off, killing some Germans. He thought it was all a big laugh, and everyone was going to go back home again in a few days. At the sight of that cold, still body all his fears had come back to him.
Bill looked back at the front of the boat again. He could hear small and large weapons chattering away, and he could hear screams of agony and rage. The layer of grey smoke was now above them. Shells were exploding in the water around the landing craft, and bullets from the multiple machine-guns were tearing into the water. Bill’s hands tightly gripped his M1 Garand, and his knees were practically knocking together. One of the men near the front of the boat took a bullet right through their head, and he flopped to the floor of the boat. Holmes’s managed to coax some of the shocked men into helping him push the body aside, and they just shoved it up into the side of the boat, eyes, ever staring.
Holmes’s began to count down the seconds until they hit the beach. Everyone had their heads down for fear of getting hit by a machine-gun. The man who was standing beside Bill – Moore – was saying the Rosary, copied by a lot of the men on the boat. Bill checked that his gun was loaded, one last time. He made sure that all his equipment was strapped on tightly. He braced himself against the side of the boat, M1 Garand facing forwards. The ramp went down. All hell broke loose.
D-Day
The fleet of small grey landing crafts sliced through the grey waves, as if they weren’t there at all. Well, at least it looked like that from the outside. The people inside the boats knew all about the waves. All of the landing craft had left transport ships just under an hour ago, and they were now nearing their destination. The boats contained Company C, of Battalion 1 in the 116th Regiment, 29th Infantry Division.
Private William “Bill” Blake looked behind him at the sound of someone getting sick, for what must have been the fiftieth time. The blue and grey Chinese taijitu of the 29th infantry Division was clearly sewn into his shoulder. He sighed, then turned back to face the front of the boat. They had left the huge transport ship, Queen of the Waves, which had taken them from England, and they were now out in the channel somewhere, near the coast of Normandy, swiftly moving towards what would be later be known as “Bloody Omaha”.
He was starting to get thirsty now. Well, he wasn’t really thirsty, he was nervous, and badly needed something to keep his mind off what he was about to do. He reached into his khaki coloured jacket and pulled out his canteen of water. He held the cold metal in his hand for a moment, before twisting the cap off and taking a small refreshing drink from it. He couldn’t drink too much. He had to save most of it for the beach. With shaking hands, he thrust the bottle back into his jacket, close to his shivering chest. He could hear the ships behind them, bombarding the beaches and he could hear the distant sounds of German “88” guns returning the fire, some of the German shells were landing very close to the boats, and Bill prayed to god that they wouldn’t get hit.
Captain Holmes began to speak up, telling them what to do once they reached the beach. They had already been de-briefed back on land, but Holmes was notorious for his second debriefing, usually given when they were at the edge of the battlefield. ”Don’t stop moving”, “Don’t lose your weapon”. Fragments of conversation drifted back to Bill, but he was too busy trying not to get sick, to pay much attention to him. Every man had been handed a sick bag when getting aboard, and now Bills came to good use. He had been holding it off for the whole journey, but now he was violently sick in the bag. “If you get hit, then sit tight, and wait for a medic to come along”. Dirk Ward, the man behind him, patted him on the shoulder “You alright there, buddy?” Bill just nodded.
The landing craft was lifted up by a large wave, showing the soldiers, the debris and weapons from the earlier assaults. Most of the equipment was from the Engineers. Bill nearly vomited again at sight of the lifeless body of a fellow soldier floating past. His face was down in the water, so he was unable to see his eyes, but he did see the huge bullet holes which had been torn into his back. The water around the body was a dark shade of red, and the water ahead of the boat was a light pink colour. He stopped looking over the sides of the boat, and concentrated on looking down at his feet. The sounds of an MG 42 could now be clearly heard, and he tried not to think of what was about to come.
When he had first joined the army, he had been exited, and full of life, hope and energy. The gruelling training and miserable lifestyle soon brought him back to reality, and he learned not to expect much from life. When he had first heard that he was going to be taking part in the invasion of Normandy, his hopes had started going up again, for he was finally going to be going into action, killing some Germans. He thought it was all a big laugh, and everyone was going to go back home again in a few days. At the sight of that cold, still body all his fears had come back to him. He now remembered that there was only a small chance that he himself would be going home after the war, and a lot of his friends would also perish. What would his family do when they got the letter saying he had been killed in action, that he had died a brave death? No, he mustn’t think of what might happen, he must only think of what was happening in the present.
Bill’s head looked up from his shoes, facing the front of the boat. He could hear small and large weapons chattering away, and he could hear screams of agony and rage. There was a layer of grey smoke above them, and around them. Shells were exploding in the water around the landing craft and bullets from the multiple machine-guns were tearing into the water. His hands tightly gripped his semi automatic rifle, the M1 Garand, and his knees were practically knocking together. A sergeant standing right in front of Bill took a bullet right through his skull. He slumped to the ground, clearly dead. “Blake, get that body off the ground! Put it somewhere where it won’t get stepped on” Holmes shouted back. “But, sir!” He protested. “Just do it,” The Captain said angrily. Bill unwillingly hoisted up the body, and shoved it up against the side of the boat, head facing into the metal of the hull.
By now, everyone had their heads down, for fear of getting hit by one of MG 42s, and most of them were practically shaking. Moore, the man standing next to Bill, was whispering the Rosary to himself, copied by a lot of the men on the boat. ”We hit the beach in 30 seconds!” Holmes called out, but his voice was lost in the sounds of the machine guns. Bill was practically kneeling on the cold, wet floor of the boat by now. The guns were nearly above them and nobody wanted to end up like the sergeant, who was hit earlier. The ramp went down, and the platoon rushed out onto the beach.
D-Day
Private William “Bill” Blake looked behind him at the sound of someone getting sick, for what must have been the fiftieth time. The blue and grey Chinese taijitu of the 29th infantry Division was clearly sewn into his shoulder. He sighed, then turned back to face the front of the boat. They had just left the transport ship which had taken them from England, and they were now out in the channel somewhere, near the coast of Normandy.
Bill reached into his jacket and pulled out his canteen of water. He held the cold metal in his hand for a moment, before twisting the cap off and taking a small refreshing drink from it. He couldn’t drink too much. He had to save most of it for the beach.
He could hear the ships behind them, bombarding the beaches and he could hear the distant sounds of German “88” guns returning the fire.
Bill’s interest turned towards the front of the boat, when he heard Captain Holmes speak up. Holmes went on about how they were to keep moving up the beach, never turn back, never stop moving, but Bill was hardly listening. He held up his rifle and checked was it fully loaded. The sounds of an MG42 could now be heard clearly, and there was a dense layer of grey smoke in the distance.
The landing craft was lifted up by a large wave, and Bill nearly vomited at sight of the lifeless body of a fellow soldier floating past. His face was down in the water, so Bill was unable to see his eyes, but he did see the huge bullet holes which had been torn into his back. Bill slid silently back down into the boat and didn’t look up when another man noticed the body, and brought everyone’s attention to it.
When Bill had first joined the army, he had been exited, and full of life and energy. The gruelling training and miserable lifestyle soon brought him back to reality. When he had first heard that he was going to be taking part in the invasion of Normandy, his hopes had started going up again, and he was happy to be going off, killing some Germans. He thought it was all a big laugh, and everyone was going to go back home again in a few days. At the sight of that cold, still body all his fears had come back to him.
Bill looked back at the front of the boat again. He could hear small and large weapons chattering away, and he could hear screams of agony and rage. The layer of grey smoke was now above them. Shells were exploding in the water around the landing craft, and bullets from the multiple machine-guns were tearing into the water. Bill’s hands tightly gripped his M1 Garand, and his knees were practically knocking together. One of the men near the front of the boat took a bullet right through their head, and he flopped to the floor of the boat. Holmes’s managed to coax some of the shocked men into helping him push the body aside, and they just shoved it up into the side of the boat, eyes, ever staring.
Holmes’s began to count down the seconds until they hit the beach. Everyone had their heads down for fear of getting hit by a machine-gun. The man who was standing beside Bill – Moore – was saying the Rosary, copied by a lot of the men on the boat. Bill checked that his gun was loaded, one last time. He made sure that all his equipment was strapped on tightly. He braced himself against the side of the boat, M1 Garand facing forwards. The ramp went down. All hell broke loose.
D-Day
The fleet of small grey landing crafts sliced through the grey waves, as if they weren’t there at all. Well, at least it looked like that from the outside. The people inside the boats knew all about the waves. All of the landing craft had left transport ships just under an hour ago, and they were now nearing their destination. The boats contained Company C, of Battalion 1 in the 116th Regiment, 29th Infantry Division.
Private William “Bill” Blake looked behind him at the sound of someone getting sick, for what must have been the fiftieth time. The blue and grey Chinese taijitu of the 29th infantry Division was clearly sewn into his shoulder. He sighed, then turned back to face the front of the boat. They had left the huge transport ship, Queen of the Waves, which had taken them from England, and they were now out in the channel somewhere, near the coast of Normandy, swiftly moving towards what would be later be known as “Bloody Omaha”.
He was starting to get thirsty now. Well, he wasn’t really thirsty, he was nervous, and badly needed something to keep his mind off what he was about to do. He reached into his khaki coloured jacket and pulled out his canteen of water. He held the cold metal in his hand for a moment, before twisting the cap off and taking a small refreshing drink from it. He couldn’t drink too much. He had to save most of it for the beach. With shaking hands, he thrust the bottle back into his jacket, close to his shivering chest. He could hear the ships behind them, bombarding the beaches and he could hear the distant sounds of German “88” guns returning the fire, some of the German shells were landing very close to the boats, and Bill prayed to god that they wouldn’t get hit.
Captain Holmes began to speak up, telling them what to do once they reached the beach. They had already been de-briefed back on land, but Holmes was notorious for his second debriefing, usually given when they were at the edge of the battlefield. ”Don’t stop moving”, “Don’t lose your weapon”. Fragments of conversation drifted back to Bill, but he was too busy trying not to get sick, to pay much attention to him. Every man had been handed a sick bag when getting aboard, and now Bills came to good use. He had been holding it off for the whole journey, but now he was violently sick in the bag. “If you get hit, then sit tight, and wait for a medic to come along”. Dirk Ward, the man behind him, patted him on the shoulder “You alright there, buddy?” Bill just nodded.
The landing craft was lifted up by a large wave, showing the soldiers, the debris and weapons from the earlier assaults. Most of the equipment was from the Engineers. Bill nearly vomited again at sight of the lifeless body of a fellow soldier floating past. His face was down in the water, so he was unable to see his eyes, but he did see the huge bullet holes which had been torn into his back. The water around the body was a dark shade of red, and the water ahead of the boat was a light pink colour. He stopped looking over the sides of the boat, and concentrated on looking down at his feet. The sounds of an MG 42 could now be clearly heard, and he tried not to think of what was about to come.
When he had first joined the army, he had been exited, and full of life, hope and energy. The gruelling training and miserable lifestyle soon brought him back to reality, and he learned not to expect much from life. When he had first heard that he was going to be taking part in the invasion of Normandy, his hopes had started going up again, for he was finally going to be going into action, killing some Germans. He thought it was all a big laugh, and everyone was going to go back home again in a few days. At the sight of that cold, still body all his fears had come back to him. He now remembered that there was only a small chance that he himself would be going home after the war, and a lot of his friends would also perish. What would his family do when they got the letter saying he had been killed in action, that he had died a brave death? No, he mustn’t think of what might happen, he must only think of what was happening in the present.
Bill’s head looked up from his shoes, facing the front of the boat. He could hear small and large weapons chattering away, and he could hear screams of agony and rage. There was a layer of grey smoke above them, and around them. Shells were exploding in the water around the landing craft and bullets from the multiple machine-guns were tearing into the water. His hands tightly gripped his semi automatic rifle, the M1 Garand, and his knees were practically knocking together. A sergeant standing right in front of Bill took a bullet right through his skull. He slumped to the ground, clearly dead. “Blake, get that body off the ground! Put it somewhere where it won’t get stepped on” Holmes shouted back. “But, sir!” He protested. “Just do it,” The Captain said angrily. Bill unwillingly hoisted up the body, and shoved it up against the side of the boat, head facing into the metal of the hull.
By now, everyone had their heads down, for fear of getting hit by one of MG 42s, and most of them were practically shaking. Moore, the man standing next to Bill, was whispering the Rosary to himself, copied by a lot of the men on the boat. ”We hit the beach in 30 seconds!” Holmes called out, but his voice was lost in the sounds of the machine guns. Bill was practically kneeling on the cold, wet floor of the boat by now. The guns were nearly above them and nobody wanted to end up like the sergeant, who was hit earlier. The ramp went down, and the platoon rushed out onto the beach.
I'm not an author, so I could be lying to you...
