"The Ascent" - a short story of D-Day
This is the first kind of fiction I've written in nearly three years, so, bear with me, I may be pretty rusty. It's a brief account of a young American soldier and his experience with D-Day in World War II. Just one kid, no grand scope or anything. Enjoy, and please criticize as necessary (I need it).
"The Ascent"
Private Adam Harding observed the actions of several soldiers around him while his landing craft pressed towards Omaha Beach. The man sitting right beside him was hyperventilating as he stared down at the metal floor with bulging eyes. Another man in one of the back corners was vomiting, possibly due to sea-sickness from the fairly violent waves, but more likely from his anxiety as they neared the sandy shores. One man was working feverishly to clean out the ammo compartment for his M1A1 Thompson, which had been jammed by the all the fountains of water that rained down into the boat as it crashed through wave after wave. A particularly younger recruit, still in his late teenage years, had nearly curled himself into a ball as he held his folded hands to his forehead. Harding could see the boy’s lips moving, probably to recite a prayer, though he couldn’t hear him over the roar of battle ahead.
Harding, being only a month past twenty years of age, began to wonder just how he was managing to remain so poised in the current situation.
He looked forward, and saw a Sergeant standing in front of the huge latch which would open and allow the infantry to step foot on French soil. The higher-ranking officer was shouting something as loud as his throat would let him, but from where he sat in the very middle of the regiment, Adam could only make out select statements.
“Don’t stop to help an injured solider…if your gun is jammed look for…find cover behind the tanks or jeeps…avoid grouping together…if you manage to get to the ridges…anywhere from five to ten men in a nest…” were a few of the proclamations that Adam was actually able to make out during the Sergeant’s speech.
Soon, he stopped hearing anything that was said, as a shrill whistling began to overpower any other noise around the craft.
Then there was a sound like thunder, and a great spout of water erupted right next to their boat. An artillery shell had found its mark in the English Channel, creating a blast so tremendous that the entire cruiser was tossed on its side. Harding wasn’t even completely aware of just what had happened as he found himself suddenly submerged beneath the chilly waves of the bay, but when he opened his eyes and regained his composure, he knew exactly what he had to do.
Make it to the beach, and help break the Nazi defenses.
Immediately he began to kick forwards and cut the water with his arms, opting to swim ahead towards the shore rather than straight up for the surface. He hadn’t been able to take a breath before going under, but Adam was confident that he could refrain from breathing long enough that he wouldn’t have to emerge out on open water and make himself a perfect target for the gun turrets further on. Growing up in South Carolina, Adam regularly visited the beaches of the state, and always enjoyed swimming in the waters of the Atlantic. He never joined the swim team for his Highschool, college, or anything of the sort, but throughout his adolescence he grew to be a rather fine swimmer, much better than people ever gave him credit for.
If there was ever a time he deserved credit for the ability, it was definitely now. He managed to press on through the Channel, moving shockingly fast given that he was weighed down by his thick uniform, and still carrying his backpack, which was filled with rations, a canteen, spare ammo clips and other assorted items. The only thing he was missing was the M1 Garand Rifle he was given for the assignment, however it was probably useless at this point after being submerged for so long.
The very moment that Adam felt his foot hit the sandy floor, he pushed himself up, and finally surfaced to open air, sea foam, and the sights and sound of battle; mortar and artillery slugs ripping apart the beach, along with any unfortunate soldier, or soldiers that were caught in the blasts; gun turrets spewing entire lines of bullets at the oncoming American infantry; tanks desperately trying to maneuver across through the moist sand as they periodically fired a shot towards the ridges; and men screaming.
That’s what he seemed to hear the best. Whether it was a request for backup, a command from a higher-ranking officer, or the cry of a dying soldier, it was the sounds of his fellow brothers in arms that were most audible to Adam, even over every last weapon being fired.
As soon as he was out of the water, he began to sprint for what he felt would be a suitable, if temporary, form of protection. Lying on the beach about fifty yards away was a smoking M4 Sherman, its armored hull blackened and charred from an unknown number of mortar shells that struck the tank. It was obvious that the vehicle was no impenetrable machine, but if it would conceal Adam from the Nazi soldiers on the cliffs beyond, it would serve its purpose for him.
Hindered by a soaking-wet suit and equipment, which, even when dry, was an impediment, the Private’s legs weren’t allowed to carry him as quickly as he wanted them to across the long distance. With bullets and shells literally raining down on the beach and the Allied forces that moved upon it, staying out in the open for long and surviving would quite possibly require a blessing. Adam wasn’t sure if he would receive that kind of miracle today.
Before he was even thirty feet from his ‘shield’, the young man jumped forward in a dive for cover. As soon as he hit the ground he began to roll, and only stopped once he felt his elbow hit one of the many wheels in between the treads on the tank. Knowing that he was safely behind the wrecked vehicle, he sat himself up and tried to shake off the layer of sand that built up on his body after he turned over in it for some five yards. To him, it was well worth being a little dirty if it ensured that he made it to his protection without being shot at the last moment.
As he dusted himself off, his eyes locked onto a sight that he hadn’t noticed whatsoever during his dash for the tank; a completely still American soldier lying face-down in the sand, a massive pool of blood forming around his torso. Adam instantly gagged at the grisly discovery and jumped back a bit in his surprise. On his way to his cover he must have passed by dozens, maybe even a hundred or so bodies of fellow soldiers, though for some reason being that close to one without even knowing about it right away didn’t sit well with him at all. It was something he never wanted to witness so up close and personal; a man no different from him, killed after serving his country.
The Private’s first thought was to look away and never look back at the corpse, but after staring at his fallen comrade for another instant, he also observed a rifle trapped underneath the body. Adam was well aware of the fact that he lost his own M1 Garand after his boat was capsized, and that if we were to somehow make it to the ridges, he would need a weapon in order to survive more than five minutes. Swallowing hard, he reached for the gun, and began to pull it out from underneath the dead soldier.
To his surprise, the M1 Garand came out with little gore on it, only a small trail of blood at the butt of it. He quickly wiped it off on the ground, and felt the barrel for any heat. It wasn’t hot enough to make him draw his fingers back upon contact, but the slight warmth of the metal told him that the weapon had been fired at least once.
The last thing Adam would want is to find out in the middle of a firefight that he picked up a rifle that was jammed because of seawater and sand.
He then began to crawl to the other end of the tank, hoping that from there he could get some kind of glance at the rest of the beach ahead and what he’d have to push through. However, before he was able to reach the very back, something else caught his attention. Running out on open ground was a small cluster of eight soldiers, all of them racing for the sand dunes at the very foot of the ridges where the enemies were stationed.
“Avoid grouping together…” the Sergeant’s words echoed in Adam’s head.
Before the realization could even register with him, Private Harding watched as a line of bullets from a turret tore through the collection of infantry in seconds. Amidst a cloud of exploding dirt and blood, every last man was stopped dead in their tracks as their bodies were holed through by hot metal.
Adam didn’t watch the entire happening unfold. He averted his eyes as quickly as he could to avoid seeing most of the slaughter, but he knew exactly what had occurred, and it was just as horrific as it would have been had he beheld all of it.
With as many weapons ablaze as there were, Adam wasn’t sure exactly when the turret had stopped firing, as he wasn’t able to distinguish that specific gun’s sound from the rest of those in the battle. Nonetheless, when he opened his eyes again and turned his head back, he didn’t look at the carnage ahead of him, instead he simply moved himself to the end of the tank, and carefully peered around the corner.
The next fifty yards of Omaha Beach were shredded even worse by mortar and artillery slugs than the first fifty, and there were definitely more bodies lying motionless in the sand. But there was something else that Adam noticed in those brief seconds while he put his face out in the open; soldiers were beginning to reach the ridges. They weren’t doing it in copious amounts just yet, but gradually, man after man was finding cover on the dunes beneath the cliffs. Somehow, the American forces were closing the gap between the waters of the English Channel and the Nazis positioned on the precipices.
Suddenly he heard an immense blast behind him, and a split moment later he saw a ball of fire erupt where an enemy pillbox once stood at the top of a hill. Adam glanced back to see that another Sherman Tank had made it onto the beach, and managed to get at least one good shot off at the Nazis before it’d become the prime target for artillery and mortars. That one shot took out a gun turret that was lined up directly with where Adam was taking cover, and presented him with an opportunity he couldn’t waste.
He bolted from behind the tank and began running as fast as his tired, weighed-down legs would allow for him to. This part of the beach was much drier than the section before his cover, but the sands were still difficult to dart across, and much less were those portions that had been mangled by weaponry. Adam did the best he could to avoid the gaping holes made by explosive shells, keeping his head up just a bit so that he could see his path in front of him. He didn’t want to look directly ahead at the ridges- that would only intimidate and slow him down. No matter how determined a soldier would be to survive, staring down that many machine guns and cannons no more than a hundred feet from himself strikes fear harder into him than any bullet could.
Along the way, two mortar slugs showered him with dirt, as well as nearly knocked him off balance due to their proximity. The first fell about twenty five feet from where he had been running, and rattled him more because it was the first major shot that came close to him, not because the explosion affected him physically. The second, on the other hand, touched down no more than fifteen feet from his position, and the force of the detonation almost sent him tumbling to the sand. Two yards or so closer and Private Harding would’ve lost half of his torso in a gruesome display, immediately halting his mad dash, as well as his life. Still, the shockwave that battered him was plenty forceful, and Adam struggled with every ounce of fortitude in him for several yards to maintain his speed while not toppling. Even though falling wouldn’t outright ruin his chances of going the distance, he simply didn’t want to lose his momentum, as he believed it was the main thing keeping him alive at that point.
But soon enough he gave up, and merely let himself drop to the earth to catch his breath; right onto one of the sand dunes beneath the ridges.
As he lay against the side of the mound, his chest rising up and down, he barely even noticed that he was in the company of some six other soldiers. All of them were flat on their stomachs, pressing themselves as deep into the knoll as possible to avoid the hellish line of fire from a gun turret positioned right above them. With bullets periodically hitting as near as five feet from where they huddled down, Adam couldn’t hear a Captain yelling to his troops until one of the soldiers hit him in the arm to get his attention.
“Private, you got a grenade!?” the Captain shouted as soon as Harding looked towards him.
Adam nodded rapidly and began to fumble through one of his knapsacks, eventually reaching in and pulling out an Mk2 “pineapple”.
“Good, toss that thing into the nest above us!” the Captain further ordered, and then faced the others, “soon as that thing blows, we’re heading on up!”
Adam crawled upwards but a few inches along the dune, just so he could get a better idea of where he was looking to land his throw. Certainly, moving any more beyond the cover of the mound was highly dangerous, but Adam wanted to make sure that this one and only grenade would do the job. He pulled the pin, counted to two, and then lobbed it in an arc.
It was a perfect toss, one that landed dead-center in the nest. The explosion tore apart the small wall of sandbags before the Nazi gunners could even recognize that the object had come their way, sending a mess of grit, dirt, metal and human body parts flying into the air.
Just as all the debris begun to fall back down to Earth, the Captain stood right up and began his charge.
“We’re clear, boys, let’s go!!” he yelled.
Adam and the rest of the soldiers picked themselves up and followed the officer up a small path along the cliffs, moving as quickly as they could to get off the beach entirely. Now as they ran along the rocky precipices, they were no longer a target for the gun turrets, mortars or artillery, only individual Nazi soldiers and their handheld weapons. It was hardly a safe situation, nor was the battle anywhere close to being over, but every last American started to feel a wave of confidence rush over them; confidence that they would win the day.
As soon as they reached the top of the ridges, they realized that they weren’t the only regiment to make it as far as they had. Several other small battalions were already beginning to lay waste to the German defenses and the infantry that continued to stand their ground. Grenades were being thrown into foxholes, flamethrowers were fired into pillboxes, and any other defensive fighting positions were showered with bullets from rifles and light-machine guns.
“Behind us!” the Captain suddenly roared, noticing a quartet of Nazi soldiers barreling out a trench was being blown apart by other American troops. Adam was towards the back of his group, so he was one of the quickest to respond to the sighting. He lifted his M1 Garand and let a bullet loose straight into the chest of one of the Nazis, dropping the man instantly. Before he could fire another shot, his squadmates riddled the remaining trio of Germans with their Thompsons, filling their bodies with dozens of pieces of burning metal.
“Not as much fun when it’s you guys gettin’ ripped to shreds, huh, ya bastards!?” one of the American soldiers shouted with a toothy grin, obviously pleased by his handiwork.
“Yeah, these Krauts are screwed now that we’ve broken their main line of defense” another added, and then motioned with his head back towards the beach, “just look at our boys come in now!”
Everyone looked out over the shores, and almost froze at the image of the American forces arriving in sheer swarms. Landing crafts were stopping safely at the shallower regions and unloading infantry by the hundreds altogether, and then the same soldiers began to run straight across the sands unmolested. This time they weren’t being gunned down by beams of turret fire, or sent flying into the air by artillery explosions. Instead, they hurried the length of Omaha Beach without any resistance whatsoever, and only sprinted as fast as they could so they could join the eventual Allied victory at the top of the ridges.
“No time for sight-seeing, we still got plenty of work to do here!” the Captain interrupted. Adam and the rest of the soldiers turned around right away, and followed the higher-ranking officer back into battle.
But not before Private Harding took one last look back at the most important hundred yards he would ever trek across in his life.
12-29-2008, 07:05 PM
