I love this story. Plenty of blood and gore, people! T RATING. Not for the faint hearted. Don't eat dinner before this.

***


The mission was simple, they said. Scale the cliffs, destroy the guns, and signal the navy that the guns were destroyed. It was exactly like they had done in all their practices. It was easy.

Too easy.

It was only as easy as the thing sounded, thought the Sergeant. How easy could destroying a casemate of giant guns be?

His friend, Corporal Charlie Richardson, the known joker of the regiment, had raised a very good question. “Suppose we get on the beach without getting blown up,” he’d asked, “Climb the impossible cliff, destroyed the indestructible guns –” at this point he was interrupted by the Sergeant, who’d added, “Provided we get pass the crack German troops.”

Charlie nodded. “That too. Anyway, once we’ve done all that, then used the unreliable radios to contact the uncontactable navy, what do we do next, sit there and wait for the reinforcements that will never come?”

The briefing officer had frowned. “Well, I guess you just wait for further orders to move out,” he had said after a moment’s hesitation.

“That’s a brilliant idea,” drawled Charlie sarcastically in his southern twang. “Y’know what? I’d rather be shot by the Germans.”

A nearby blast shook the Sergeant from his reverie. He was in the landing craft assigned to him, part of the 5000 odd ship strong invasion armada. The Sergeant checked and rechecked his M1 nervously, thoughts whirling around in his already cluttered mind. But one thought stood out above the rest.

Today’s the day that all of us have been waiting for for months. Today’s the day that probably would be talked about for generations to come. Today is the day that we will sacrifice our lives for, to gain a foothold, to liberate the people of Europe.

Today is D-Day.

***

The ramp of the LCT slammed down with a bang. “Everybody out!” yelled the officer, but was hit in the chest in mid sentence and pitched over, dead. The Sergeant grimaced at the sight of his officer, the man he had known and liked, dead on the ramp, but pushed the sight to the back of his mind and made to charge out of the LCT before it blew. Sitting there, waiting while the men unloaded, it was a perfect target for the German artillery. Men were rushing towards the exit, jamming it, so the Sergeant grit his teeth, yelled his signature battle cry, “To hell with it!” and jumped over the side of the boat.

He was immediately engulfed in a wave of icy water. He struggled to push to the surface but his equipment was just too heavy, weighing him down. Just when he was about to give up, his feet touched the seabed and he propelled himself upwards with all his strength, gasping for oxygen to clear his dizzy head.

The moment the scene met his eyes he wish he had stayed underwater. Bodies floated on the water, turning the water red with their blood. The Sergeant didn’t really want to think about how many had sunk beneath the waves. On the beach the men were being massacred – machine guns cut them apart just as they stepped onto the beach and if that didn’t kill them then the intense shelling did. The beach was an absolute nightmare. It was as if they had landed in hell. The Sergeant grimaced as a couple of arms went flying by as he raced upwards to the beach. A head rolled down and came to a stop at his feet, grinning weirdly at him, the eyes opened and glazed over. Not many men made it to the shingle unscathed. Heck, not many people made it there alive.

“C’mon, trooper, move it!” a raw yell sounded from above him. With difficulty the Sergeant tore his eyes off the gruesome, bloody head and looked up. A Captain – was his name Raaen? – was standing there, pulling the Sergeant by his collar, getting him up onto the beach. At the same time he brandished his M1 [which had presumably run out of ammunition] at the Germans, yelling, “We’ll show you, you goddamn Krauts!”

With difficulty the Sergeant pulled himself up and scrambled madly for a nearby tank trap, which was currently the best thing in the world. The beach was a nightmare. Machine guns roared, shells exploded and mines burst. In fact, every step taken seemed to trigger a mine. The beach was hopelessly booby trapped.

And they said that this would be easy, thought the Sergeant dryly as his mind wandered to the inevitable subject of Charlie’s fate. Was he safe? Did he get on to the beach? Had he already gotten to the guns?

As he thought, he looked around dazedly for Pointe-Du-Hoc, the “impossible cliff” that Charlie had referred to. It was hard to search for it, no matter how big it might be, when there were so many gory distractions. He finally spotted it, though, a foreboding, intimidating, formidable wall looming in the distance. A single thought entered his mind as he stared at it.

We’re supposed to climb THAT?!

Just the thought of scaling that monstrosity made his hands break out into cold sweat. Still, he had to reach the cliff, hadn’t he? He had to scale that stupid…thing and destroy the guns. The pack of TNT in his pocket sat there like a rock waiting to be hurled at someone. The Sergeant picked up his pace as he darted and weaved through the battlefield, ignoring shouts of “Are you crazy?!” and “Where the heck d’you think you’re goin’?” from various men. He was one of the only Rangers with TNT and he had to get it to the men. He couldn’t let them down now.

A shell narrowly missed him as he ran, choosing instead to blast a soldier standing next to him to bits. He grimaced as bits of human showered him, continuing to thread his way through the dead bodies that littered the beach. Machine gun fire ripped past, a bullet striking the Sergeant in his ankle. But he limped on, although in obvious pain, struggling to reach the foot of the immense cliff. Tirelessly he pumped his legs and raced towards the huge bulk that drew closer and closer.

The few dozen men huddled at the cliff watched in amazement as the lone figure came half running, half limping towards them like the Greek messenger who ran from Marathon to Athens. Oblivious to the wound that was obviously paining him, he struggled on, coming closer towards them. As he drew closer they could see that he seemed exhausted from his daredevil sprint. Two men, presumably trying to act like heroes, darted out and caught him just as he stumbled. As he was brought back to safety [what little safety there was, anyway] he coughed and looked around.

“What’re you standing around for?” he said incredulously. “You ain’t gonna take the guns just stayin’ ‘ere, y’know?”

***

The medic had the Sergeant patched up in no time. “Where’s the damn equipment?” asked the Sergeant – bellowed, rather, seeing as a normal voice wouldn’t be able to be heard over the noise of the battle.

“Somewhere,” a Lieutenant yelled back right before a machine gun caught him in the chest and blood splattered everywhere. The Sergeant cursed. How were they to climb the cliff if their equipment was “somewhere”?

A haggard figure with his helmet balanced precariously on his head [the strap had been shot off] approached the cliff. With a start, the Sergeant realized it was Charlie.

“Charlie!” he yelled excitedly. “Boy, am I glad to see ya!” Charlie lifted his head and waved an acknowledgement. On closer examination, the Sergeant saw that he was carrying a few…grappling hooks?

“I’m even gladder to see these things!” he quipped before relieving Charlie of his burden and handing them out to various rangers, who immediately hurled them up. “C’mon, Charlie!” he yelled as he made his way along his own rope. All around him men were falling to their deaths, screaming as they did so, as the Germans removed the hooks from the top. It wasn’t the falling men that got to you…it was the screams. Ear piercing, heart wrenching screams that you wished you had never heard. Screams of dying men.

The Sergeant gritted his teeth and climbed on, hoping with all his might that the Germans didn’t pick his to throw back down. The MG42s had opened fire now, the bullets tearing into the bodies of the Rangers. Not that they didn’t have enough on their hands already, what with the Krauts throwing them to their deaths. The Sergeant spotted a man climbing a ladder – how had the ladder gotten onto the beach?! – and swaying dangerously. Was he mad?!

The Sergeant looked up again. He had been lucky to escape notice so far. “Almost there…” he said to himself, pulling himself up. “Just a bit more…”

He had spoken too soon. A leering German face appeared above him and his heart sank. Tauntingly the German picked up his hook and brandished it at him. “NO YOU DON’T!” roared the Sergeant in a desperate attempt to scare him away. Unfortunately, it didn’t do anything to help. The German held it far off the cliff and let go. Suddenly the Sergeant was clutching a rope leading to nowhere, trying desperately to latch on to the rocky outcrop, but to no avail. He was falling…

***

“Gotcha, son!” a rough hand closed around his collar and he struggled to breathe. He grabbed onto his savior’s arm and hoisted himself up onto the man’s rope. Looking up, he found himself staring into the deep blue eyes of the Captain who had saved his ass on the beach.

“Throw your hook, soldier,” he encouraged. Looking back down, the Sergeant saw he still held his grappling hook in his free hand. He hurled it and it caught fast. Nodding encouragingly, the Captain let go of his arm and continued climbing his own rope.

This time, there couldn’t be any screw ups. This time the Captain wouldn’t be there to save him. The Sergeant bit his lip and inched forward slowly. His hands were already red from rope burn. Besides him he heard a man yell, “This is another of those goddamn SNAFU operations, innit?!” and he smiled. The man didn’t know how right he was.

He was almost at the top now. A hand appeared at the top of the cliff and he grabbed it, not really caring if it was American or German. A horrible, grinning face presented itself as the owner of the hand. The Kraut who let me go, realized the Sergeant. He would have drawn his pistol but the Kraut was already pointing one at him. The finger squeezed the trigger and the Sergeant shut his eyes.

Click.

The Sergeant opened his eyes, hardly daring to believe it. The pistol was jammed! While the German furiously worked at it, the Sergeant tackled him. The men went flying onto the ground, viciously dealing punches and kicks. Finally, though, the German got his pistol working again. He pushed the Sergeant off triumphantly and held the pistol out. The Sergeant’s heart sank as he watched.

Bang!

The Sergeant looked around dazedly. He was still alive? That was impossible. He looked up. The German was dead, lying at his feet, his last, leering smile still etched on his face. The Captain stood behind, pistol in hand, gun smoking. “You alright son?” he asked, pulling the tired Sergeant up as his pistol blazed away at the Germans.

“Yeah,” the younger man said feverishly. “Thanks a lot, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” replied the Captain, and suddenly he was gone, lost in the crowd of battling soldiers.

The Sergeant drew his Colt and started shooting any German he could see. The bunker was already in sight, but it looked like the crack troops were overwhelming. They would take an eternity to get there. All around him corpses lay on the ground in grotesque poses, most with their limbs and heads missing, others with their intestines spilling out. The Sergeant watched in morbid fascination as the trooper in front of him was blown to bits and a piece of his guts splattered onto the Sergeant’s face.

He could see the Captain again, right beside him. The Krauts were retreating now, drawing back into the bunkers. With a sudden sense of happiness the Sergeant stepped forward, only to step on something squishy. When he lifted his boot, he saw some mashed up, purplish-yellowish squiggly looking thing.

“Brains,” said the Captain matter-of-factly before moving on.

***

There were more disgusting episodes to come. The Sergeant searched his pockets for TNT but couldn’t find it. Spotting a likely looking trooper with a roll of wire on his back, the Sergeant hurried over. “Boy, you got TNT?” he asked shortly. The soldier looked at him and nodded. “Good. Grab it and come with me,” ordered the Sergeant. The boy looked at him before brandishing what he was carrying in his right hand. The Sergeant felt a sickening lurch – the boy was carrying his own left arm. Looking at him innocently, the young trooper asked, “But sir, what do I do with this?”

***

It was 10 00. They were to have taken the bunkers ages ago. The Sergeant and the Captain, armed with two packs of Satchel charges and TNT each, crept towards the bunker. The fighting still raged on behind them. The Sergeant kicked open the door and they got ready to throw the explosives. But what they saw stunned them.
They had fought so hard, sacrificed limbs and lives, pushed on valiantly, all for…

Nothing. The casemate was empty. And the Sergeant, looking around at the blank space, could only think of one thing to say.

“Damn.”

Finis...?