Landing craft, fore and aft, full of men and boys poised to land guns in hand, close band of fine men. The start of overlord, the allied sword, men onboard to liberate a country, ready to maraud, engines hum in the darkness, thoughts turn to wives, kids and mums.
Landing crafts fall short of the beach, but still the aggressors they must breach. Ramp lowered boots pound first man out takes a round, into the sea, boots full of water pushing on, lambs to the slaughter. Guns firing everywhere, muzzle flash of yellow flair, everyone knows they are there.
Soldiers topple into the sea like brittle skittles one, two, three. Single mind to win the battle to liberate these people treated worse than cattle. 4,000 allied soldiers die in the ensuing battle heavy guns pound and machine guns rattle, explosions all around, men cut down. Cold blood runs in the dark sea, bullets and shells rip them apart they know they are in hell and that’s just the start.