The sky is loosing
its inky black,
the sun is but
a thought.
The sergeant looks
over the bow
and sees the
outline of an
island.
The beach is not
yet clear,
the churning props
thrust ahead
defying every wave.
A thousand yards
to travel
and then!?
Above their heads
a sound
they have not yet heard,
its rushing passage
leaves no doubt
of its intent.
The engine drops
its RPM
and touches
bottom sand.
Troops know the sign
from a dozen landings
and are poised
to spill over
the ramp,
which has dropped
suddenly to the
waiting surf.
Men surge forward
through the gap,
the water is not
warm,
it chills them through
their leggings
and soaks their
rugged shoes.
But they are not aware
of this,
there is too much
of which to think.
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 movement.
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 stinking earth!
