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Omaha Beach: A Short Story

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The shoreline loomed ominously in the distance. I could faintly make out the gray concrete fortifications that sat on top of the colossal jagged cliff, barely visible through the haze of the early morning fog that enveloped the coast of German-controlled France. I could see the Nazi flag waving slowly with the ever gentle breeze. I looked down at my watch, its hands seeming to move in slow motion. It was 06:30. My company commander ordered our assault craft forward. The boat cut through the waves, not like the blade of a chef’s newly sharpened knife, but more like a small child slapping his hand playfully against the cool water of a local swimming pool.
The boat rocked precariously back and forth with the motion of the ever changing sea. Suddenly,
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The water was littered with the bodies of other Rangers lying facedown in the water, the sea rocking them slowly back and forth, like a mother gently rocking a newborn baby to sleep at night. Along with them were the twisted and mangled remains of B Company’s assault craft, which lay floating near the sand bank. I frantically combed the water surrounding me, my heart beat growing ever rapid with each passing second. My brother was a member of B Company. I continued to search the floating graveyard, but luck never succumbed to my silent prayers. My objective was to get to the guns, and with every minute I remained in the freezing sea, my chances of finding my brother and completing my objective dwindled. I finally had to turn away and keep swimming. I clambered slowly onto the beach, dragging myself up onto the wet sand which was trying to engulf me-hold me in an eternal prison. Just as I had made it out of the water, I felt a tug on my pack. I looked up and stared into the stern face of our company commander who was yelling at me to get off my ass. He pulled me to my feet, then started running toward the staggering cliff that stood before us, dodging mines and MG42 fire from up atop the colossal giant that mocked us-that housed one of Hitler’s largest creations, the Atlantic…show more content…
The torrent was endless, the barbs holding me hostage, never allowing me to escape or gain any ground. My savior came when a soldier who had just climbed over the cliff found me. He cut me free, pulling me from my jagged prison. I collapsed onto the ground, my energy completely drained. The soldier kneeled next to me, pulling a canteen from his backpack. He touched the metal lid to my parched lips and told me to drink. I tried asking him who he was, but before I could manage a single word, a shot rang out, reverberating off of the emplacements, and the soldier fell to the ground with a soft thud. I drug myself over to him in agony and stared directly into his face. Laying right between his eyes was a bullet hole, a clean shot straight through his skull. I crumpled to the ground next to him, finally realizing who the unknown soldier was. He was my own brother, who had somehow made it to shore even after their assault craft took a direct hit to the ramp. He had given his life, just like the company commander, to save
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