The shelling
of the shore
has ceased,
the beach comes alive
with flashes of fire.
A rain of projectiles
large and small,
a buddy falls
in front of you.
You stumble over
his fallen body 
and carry on
the forward motion;
you have no other choice.

The water has
changed its depth,
you are in
shoulder-deep.
With rifle held
above your head,
you move slowly
through the brine.
You see and hear 
the slaughter
that abounds
around your
shaking body.

Machinegun fire
comes from the right,
its tracers drawing nigh.
You drop to chin depth,
rifle at the level.
The beach is
 coming slowly,
you have a way
to travel.
The depth becomes
more shallow
as you take care
to keep alive.
Around you
are your buddies,
some floating in the surf,
their stillness
can only mean
they have left
this stinkin' earth.

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