Another wave of sea spray hit his shivering face like bullets pounding into the practise board he used this morning as the boat smashed into a colossal wave. They neared the beach. No longer was it the picturesque setting of crystal waters and soft, light grains of sand that puts smiles on children’s faces. Now it was a scene straight out of hell with fire and explosions of destruction, a place where the cries of agonized men would be forever etched into the ancient cliffs.
The waves crashed against the shore furiously, washing up the tin prison cells that would bring thousands of young, tough, often inexperienced men to their deaths. BOOM! A shell landed on one of the boats, a direct hit; huge explosions of fuel, metal and torn limbs washed over into the sea. Flaming oil burned on the water as cannon fire hit the front of the ship.
One man dressed in the dark green uniform and black boots, filth covered every visible inch of his skin. Unsteadily, he took a drink from his canteen and silently prayed as he kissed the cross attached to his necklace. The man next to him wretched violently as his stomach emptied itself of all content. At the back of the boat the driver looked fierce in his khaki jacket and helmet, the gun on his back locked and loaded ready to kill. He looked upon the men that sat in their seats and noticed the way their hands shook uncontrollably as they neared deaths row.
“Clear the ramp! Thirty seconds!”
