The Soldier's Mirror

by Jay Zendrowski

  Chapter 10

  “Did you hear,” Sam said at breakfast a couple of days later. “We’re going.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” Harry asked.

  “I overheard one of the sergeants talking to his corporal in the chow line.”

  “What’d they say? When are we going?”

  “They didn’t say exactly, but I got the impression it was going to be in the next few days.”

  “I wonder what it’s like, you know, what it’s really like.”

  Harry voiced what we were all thinking. I think Sam took it upon himself to try and lighten the mood a little.

  “I always wanted to go to France; it’s supposed to be beautiful. Picturesque countryside, the best food in the world, beautiful women; what more could a guy ask for? Hey Gallagher,” Sam said to Harry, “once we’re over there, stick with me. With your country-boy charm and my impeccable French, we’d be sure to score with some of those sexy French babes.”

  “Impeccable French?” Johnny said. “DuPree, the only thing I’ve ever heard you say in French is peanut butter.”

  “Ah, beurre d’arachide, my favorite,” Sam replied with a big smile on his face. “Check this out: mon petit garcon est la jambon avec moutard.” A chuckle went up from most of us.

  “What did he say?” Harry asked.

  “I think he just said his little boy is a ham with mustard.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Harry,” Sam interrupted. “I’d never steer you wrong. If we end up in Paris and you want to ask out a gorgeous French broad, all you have to say is, ‘Bonjour mon petite cherie, mangez mon grande baton, s’il vous plait’.”

  “What was that,” Harry asked again as the rest of us snickered.

  “He just told you to ask a girl to eat your big stick.”

  “Hey, there was a ‘please’ in there,” Sam corrected.

  Harry gave Sam a playful shove. “You’re on your own, DuPree. Just leave me out of it.”

  “Ah, mon ami, what have I done to offend you?” Sam asked, holding up his hands innocently. He entertained us through the rest of breakfast as he continued to brutally butcher the French language with his own fucked-up combinations of words. It was nice to see everybody smile for a change though.

  Sure enough, the scuttlebutt Sam had heard was true. Capt. Crocker addressed the company later that afternoon. In two days we’d be moving down to Southampton in preparation for the assault on the beaches of France. We were instructed to speak to no one. We could write home, but our letters would be held by the mail clerk until the operation was underway.

  That night brought a flurry of activity, everyone looking for pencils and paper. I wrote to my mother, wondering if it would be the last words she’d ever hear from me. The little blue handkerchief she gave me sat next to me as I wrote, my eyes going to it time and again as the words became more and more difficult to write. I wanted to keep writing forever, as if it could keep time from moving, as if I could forever keep in contact with them through the flowing graphite.

  “C’mon chaps, finish up,” the mail clerk said as he walked through our barracks, mail bag in hand.

  Reluctantly, I wrote a few final words and signed it ‘your loving son always, Alex’.

  “Alright you suckers, how about we play some poker? I need some more smokes.” Johnny asked loudly.

  “Up yours, Russo,” Sam responded. “I’m first in line to kick your ass tonight. Hey guys, who’s gettin’ in line after me.”

  “That’s me,” one person chimed in, quickly followed by others, all of them smiling. A mental diversion like that was just what we needed. Johnny pulled out the cards and we played long into the night, cigarettes going back and forth from one player to the next over the bed that had become our gambling table; thoughts of the imminent war smoldering like hot embers within each of our brains.

  “Jesus Christ, look at that,” Chester said as we arrived in Southampton two days later. The harbor was jam-packed with more ships than I had ever seen in my life. There was a naval vessel tied up at every mooring spot available. The piers were a bustling hive, cranes and personnel moving equipment and crates of all sizes onto the waiting ships. We stood mesmerized, the enormous scale of this undertaking finally dawning on us. I shuddered, realizing that if this was just a fraction of the fighting force necessary to take on the Germans. They had to be so much more powerful than I had ever imagined.

  “LISTEN UP!” Cpl. Riddick announced loudly as he and Sgt. Murphy strode into our tent later that day.

  “I want to let you men know that as of right now, the invasion is happening in two days, on June 5th, so we’re going tomorrow night,” Murphy said as his intense eyes scanned over each of us. “No one will be allowed into town, and I don’t think I have to tell you not to speak to anyone about this. We’ve been assigned onto the HMS Ramsdale. It’s not a big ship but it’s been adequately converted to deploy landing craft. The main ship in our operation will be the HMS Hilary. We’ll be stopping about six or eight miles off the coast of France and going in by the LCAs from there. We’ll be part of the operation assigned to take what is being called Juno Beach, Nan sector. Our priority is to take the town of Bernieres, and then move on to secure the local airfield. The attack will start by air the night before, followed by naval artillery pounding the beaches from their positions off the coast. The guns will stop as the landing craft are deployed. We are due to hit the beaches at 07:30. Our squad will be known as Husky 5 for this mission.” He paused for a second, looking at each anxious face in turn. “Hopefully the bombardment from the air and the big guns will have done their job. It would be nice if it was just a nice little clean-up detail for us.”

  The men said not a word, each lost in their own thoughts. The sergeant had made it sound like it was going to be packaged all nice and clean, like putting together a new bike. First take frame piece A and attach gear B. Once that is in place, attach chain C and pedal D. Then hop on your new bike and ride to freedom. I don’t think anybody believed it would be that easy, but at this point, we could only pray.

  For the next twenty-four hours everyone was restless. We packed up our kits with only what was necessary, everything non-essential was to be left behind. Everyone slept fitfully that night and the edginess only got worse the next day when we were informed that the whole thing had been delayed by a day—weather and tide conditions, or some shit like that. Looked like it was going to be June 6th.

  Late the next day, we finally got word to move. We trooped down to the dock and boarded the Ramsdale, the transport ship that would be ferrying us across the channel. The Landing Craft Assault barges that would be used to take us those last few miles from the ship to the beaches hung off the sides like giant lifeboats. We trampled on board, the deck quickly filling with soldiers. Some of the other vessels started to move, and we weren’t far behind. As we came out of the inlet connecting Southampton with the channel, we heard the comforting drone of planes passing overhead.

  “There we go, boys,” Sam said as we looked up to see the barely-discernible silhouettes of the bombers moving across the night sky. One group followed the next until I lost count of the number of squadrons moving southwards. “That’s our ticket home right there. Those boys’ll soften ‘em up and we’ll just have to take care of the pesky few that are left. I hope ole Adolph puts on a nice spread when we show up at his place for dinner in a couple of weeks. None of that sauerkraut and schnitzel shit; I want some roast beef and apple pie.”

  We soon met up with other ships coming out of the Portsmouth area. I couldn’t believe the size of the armada that was headed to France, and I knew what I could see was just a small portion. There were ships of every type and size: battleships, destroyers, escort ships, transport ships. The water was full of all types of craft, all with a single purpose. We chugged intently across the channel, all eyes forward.

  In the distance we started to hear the muffled sound of bombing.

  We hoped the bombers were hitting their targ
ets as Sam had said. As we got closer, the guns started. The battleships and destroyers had stopped about eight miles off the coast and started to pound away with the massive guns. The constant bombardment was deafening.

  The Ramsdale pulled up close to our lead ship, the Hilary, and hove to. The Hilary was firing off its huge guns as well, the air around it filled with a drifting haze from the smoking barrels.

  “Alright, men, into the boats,” the Ramsdale’s captain hollered out. They’d drilled us on the way over and we made our way to our LCA. We were going in with two other squads, Husky 4 and Husky 6. We hustled into the craft in order; Husky 4 were going to be the first unit off so they were stationed right up front, followed by the rest of us. Capt. Crocker and Lt. Shapton were with us, too.

  “Keep your arms in and your heads down, boys,” one of the deckhands yelled into the barge-like boat. We heeded his advice, knowing a number of recruits had been seriously injured by flying block and tackle. They quickly lowered us away until we dropped into the bucking waves. A few boats were already underway as our steersman headed for the still-distant shore.

  The sky was slowly lightening as we continued towards shore, the boxy craft heaving and rolling with the waves. The sea looked gray and cold in the dim morning light, the salty spray splashing down around us as we plowed forwards. A couple of guys puked, either from seasickness or anxiety, probably some of both.

  Suddenly, the sound of the guns behind us stopped. Once the LCAs got within range, they wanted to make sure they weren’t shelling their own guys. We looked at each other apprehensively, even though we’d been told that would be happening. It was dawning on us that from here on in, it was going to be up to us.

  As we surged forward, I heard a whistling sound overhead. A massive explosion hit a short distance in front of us, rocking the front of the boat as a deluge of sea water rained down on us.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God…..” I looked over and saw Johnny mumbling as he crossed himself in prayer. I hoped he was praying for me, too.

  Shells continued to fall into the sea around us as we drove for the beach. My eyes flicked up as the little boat heaved up and down, the beach just a few hundred yards away now. Iron crosses littered the beachfront, making it harder for our landing craft to come cleanly into shore. Smoke drifted up from a concrete pillbox dead ahead of us, and I thanked God that one of our bombers or artillery shells had found their mark. Machine gun fire filled the air, the bullets ricocheting crazily off the steel plating of our little craft.

  “CLEAR THE RAMP,” the helmsman yelled from behind us. I heard screaming ahead and the next time we dove into the trough of a wave, I saw men spilling onto the beach from some landing craft just in front of us. Bodies littered the water at the front of their craft as other men scrambled forward, machine gun fire ringing out from a sand-bagged nest above.

  “Oh shit,” Harry said under his breath, his eyes seeing the same thing I saw.

  The helmsman moved cleanly between two of the massive iron crosses before I heard the scrunch of sand beneath us bring the boxy craft to a jerking halt.

  “GO! GO! GO!” a sergeant at the front yelled as the ramp dropped. The men of Husky 4 rushed forwards, the rest of us starting to move.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

  A hail of machine gun fire met them as soon as they stepped off, cutting them down like a scythe through summer wheat.

  “GO! GO!” The sergeant yelled again as the men continued to rush forwards, leaping over their fallen comrades. Johnny and I jumped into the surf, the water coming up to our knees.

  PING!

  I felt my helmet spin to the side as a bullet ricocheted off. I raced for the cover of one of the iron crosses, ducking down next to it and trying to make myself as small as possible. I saw Johnny and Harry crouching behind the next one, nervously peering around the edge as the piercing sound of gunfire filled the air.

  “THERE!” I looked to where Johnny was pointing. A sand dune with a pronounced grassy hillock at the uphill edge was about twenty yards away. If we could get into the little bunker behind it, we might be okay. I took a deep breath and darted forwards, forgetting about the zig-zagging pattern they’d suggested we run in. I was too scared to remember any of that. I just wanted to be safe as quickly as possible.

  I heard bullets flying past me as I bent over, running as fast as I could. I dove into the dune, rolling up beneath the lip of the grassy hillock, hidden from the Nazi’s machine gun nest above. Harry, Johnny and Chester jumped in right behind me. We turned with our backs to the hillock trying to catch our breath. Further back I saw Sam and Bill crouching behind the iron cross I’d been behind just moments before. Next to them I saw Sid’s body splayed out at the edge of the water, a bloody hole looking at me from where his left eye had been. I had no idea where George was, wondering if he’d been cut down as soon as he’d left the boat.

  Sgt. Murphy and Cpl. Riddick jumped from the LCA’s ramp into the surf and dashed for the beach, heading towards our secure little bunker.

  BOOM!

  A mortar shell hit directly beside us; the concussive wave knocking me back against the sandy wall of the dune behind us. I saw Riddick’s body launched into the air and spinning crazily before it landed on the top edge of the dune right above us. The sickening thud of his body caused sand to rain down on us. I turned and saw that his head and right arm were missing, having been blown right off his body. Blood oozed from his severed neck, staining the sand black. A nervous impulse still shot through his headless body, his left leg jerking spasmodically. I heard Harry start to wretch as my eyes stayed locked on the horrendous sight of Riddick’s headless body mere inches away.

  “Holy shit!” I heard Johnny say. I saw he was looking past me, not at Riddick. I turned and saw Murphy drop to his knees on the beach, his eyes staring glassily at the twitching body of Riddick. A wet stain appeared at his crotch, the darkness blossoming over his groin. Like the old rumours we’d heard, I don’t know if his bowels had let loose too, but his bladder sure did. He knelt there in shock, his eyes fixed on Riddick as bullets careened wildly around him.

  “Fuck me,” Johnny said as he threw his gun down and scrambled to his knees. Before I knew what he was doing, he dashed from the dune and tackled Murphy, knocking him to the ground. Johnny got up and started to drag the dazed sergeant towards the dune. I dropped my rifle and dove out to help. We grabbed Murphy under each arm and pulled him into the safety of the dune, bullets churning up sand all around us.

  “Is he okay?” I asked as we flipped Murphy onto his back. We couldn’t see any blood, he just looked dazed. Johnny reared back and slapped his face.

  “Wha……what happened?” Murphy said, the resounding slap having jolted him back to reality.

  “Riddick got hit, Sir,” I said as Murphy came to, his usual intense scowl on his face once more.

  “Where is he?”

  “Right here, Sir.” I nodded to the now inert body lying on the ridge of the hillock just above our heads.

  “Oh fuck,” Murphy said as he looked at the mangled body of Riddick. The corporal’s body jerked from the impact of bullets as a couple of sickening thuds came to our ears, his lifeless body becoming a shield for shots that were meant for us.

  “Have you seen the captain?” Murphy asked.

  “No Sir.”

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” The soldier in him was back, taking charge as we needed him to do.

  THUNK!

  A German hand grenade landed in our dune right in the middle of us. Johnny reacted quickly, grabbing the thing by the handle and hurling it back from the direction it had come. We all ducked down before it went off seconds later, safely out of reach.

  “START PEPPERING THAT MACHINE GUN NEST. WE’VE GOT TO TRY AND DISTRACT THEM,” Murphy yelled. I don’t know at what point they’d arrived, but looking further down the sandy pit I saw George, Sam and Bill. They leaned their rifles over the top edge of the dune and started firing at the Nazi’s sandbag-
protected vantage point above us.

  “Do you think we should move to a safer spot, Sir?” I asked.

  “Look around, Uke. There is no safer spot.”

  I did look around, my eyes scanning in both directions along the beach. He was right; our little secluded bunker was as safe as any. The good thing was, more LCAs were hitting the beach, more and more soldiers joining the fight as they came off the craft and rushed for the beach. Fortunately for us, but not so fortunate for the guys just arriving, the machine gun nest had some easier targets to hit. They turned it towards one of the LCAs that had just dropped its ramp, a hail of bullets killing a number of men before they could even take a step off.

  “Sergeant, what’s the situation?” I looked back to see Capt. Crocker and Lt. Shapton kneeling next to us. They were gasping, having run to the cover of our dune.

  “That machine gun nest right above us is raining hell, Sir,” Murphy said. “We’ve got to take it out.”

  “Private,” the captain motioned towards me, “give me the radio.”

  I shifted over and turned so he could pull the handset out of the pack on my back.

  “Husky Leader, this is Husky 5…….Husky Leader, this is Husky 5, do you read?”

  “Husky 5, this is Husky Leader.”

  “We’ve got an enemy machine gun nest that is slaughtering everybody trying to hit the beach. I thought the tanks were supposed to be here by now.”

  “The seas are rougher than we thought. They’re still about five minutes away, Husky 5.”

  “Fuck,” Capt. Crocker said as he slammed the handset back into my pack. “We can’t wait that long.” He peered over the edge of the dune, surveying the terrain. “Murphy, who’s that guy in your unit with the good arm?”

  “Ferguson, Sir,” he answered, talking about Bill, the pitcher.

  “FERGUSON, DUPREE,” the Captain called out.

  Bill and Sam hustled over, keeping their heads down beneath the lip of the dune. “Yes, Sir?”

  “You two give Ferguson your grenades,” he motioned to Johnny and me. We pulled out our grenades and handed them to Bill. The captain turned back to Bill and Sam. “We’ve got to try and take out that machine gun nest and the only way we can do that is to outflank them. We’re going to lay down some cover fire. I want you two men to move to that little ridge going up the hill. Private, if we can get you to the top of that ridge, do you think you can hit them with those grenades?”

  Bill looked upwards to where the captain was pointing. If they could make it safely to the spot he’d mentioned, it looked like they’d be covered from view from the machine gun nest. I tried to see how far the nest was from the spot he’d indicated. To me it looked a little more than the distance from second base to home plate.

  “Yes Sir,” Bill said confidently.

  “Just do your best, Son,” Capt. Crocker said with a nod. “Now, we’re going to throw one grenade over towards the other side to distract them. As soon as the grenade hits, you guys take off. Got it?”

  “Yes Sir,” Bill and Sam chimed in together.

  “EVANS!”

  “Yes Sir,” Chester answered the Captain.

  “Evans, once this starts, we may need your expertise. If one of those Krauts pokes their head up, do you think you can take him out?”

  “No problem, Sir. The problem right now is that they’re not showing themselves.”

  “Well, hopefully if those grenades don’t make it, at least we might flush ‘em out.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Then get ready, it’ll happen fast.”

  Chester quickly surveyed the situation, his eyes lingering on the inert body of Riddick lying on the brim of the hillock above us. He shifted over as he brought his sniper rifle into position. I was shocked to see him lay the gun across Riddick’s slumped body, just as he’d used sandbags for support during practice. He chambered a round in place with a secure CLICK-CLACK sound.

  “Gallagher, I want you to throw a grenade as far as you can up towards those bastards, but on the other side from where those two will be running.”

  “Yes Sir,” Harry responded. The distance from our spot to the machine gun nest was well out of anyone’s throwing range, especially uphill. But as a diversion, it sounded reasonable, especially since there didn’t seem to be any other options.

  “Alright, on my command,” Capt. Crocker said as Bill and Sam edged over to the far edge of the dune. Harry inserted his finger into the pin of his grenade. “NOW!”

  Harry pulled the pin as he got to his feet, his arm whipping forward in a single motion as he heaved the grenade as hard as he could before diving back into the dune.

  BOOM!

  As the grenade blew to the left, Bill and Sam tore off to the right. The rest of us brought our rifles up and started firing, trying to give them some cover.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

  The machine gun turned in our direction, the staccato blast spraying bullets over our huddled position. It swept back and forth over our little dune before returning to another landing craft that had just hit the beach. I saw Bill and Sam scrambling up the hill, safely hidden by the little ridge Capt. Crocker had directed them to.

  “Okay, easy girl,” I heard Chester say as he talked quietly to his rifle while his fingers subtly adjusted the high-powered scope. “That’s my girl, just sit nice and pretty, just like that.” He took his fingers off the scope and I watched as he gently settled it into the trigger. He took a deep breath and exhaled softly.

  I looked up and saw that Bill and Sam had reached the top of the hill and were looking in the direction of the machine gun nest. Sam crouched down on one knee while Bill spoke quickly to him and pointed in that direction. Sam nodded and put his eye to the sights of his gun while Bill pulled one of the grenades off his belt.

  “C’mon boys,” I heard Capt. Crocker mutter as we watched from below, the repetitive blast of the machine gun still filling the air. I looked back at the beach and saw more bodies floating listlessly on the waves while many others were lying lifeless on the strand, red rivulets of blood trickling back into the pounding surf.

  “C’mon, Bill,” Johnny said under his breath as I turned to see Bill pull the pin on the first grenade. He drew back and stepped into the throw hard, just like he would with a fastball. We held our breath as we watched the rock-like missile streak across the morning sky.

  BOOM!

  The grenade blew, but it had fallen short. The smoke and dust rose a good dozen feet from the secluded nest. The Germans must have realized what had happened. As we watched, a lone helmet-covered head appeared above the sandbags and started firing a handheld machine gun in the direction of Bill and Sam.

  RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

  Sam and Bill dove behind the edge of the ridge as the machine gun blazed away.

  “That’s my girl,” I heard Chester say quietly. “Time for a kiss.” I watched as he gently squeezed the trigger.

  BLAM!

  A billowing red mist shot into the sky from the German’s head as Chester’s bullet hit home. The man dropped out of sight, his gun silent.

  I turned to the right as Bill got to his feet and pulled the pin on another grenade. Even from here, I could see the concentration on his face. Once more he strode into the throw, putting all his might behind it. The dark ball hurtled through the sky, higher this time as it arced beautifully towards the waiting target. It dropped out of sight, coming down right in the middle of the sandbags.

  BOOM!

  The explosion caused a number of sandbags to come sliding down the hill towards us as the rhythmic blast from the powerful gun immediately ceased. A German soldier slumped over the hole in the front edge and came rolling down the hill with the sandbags, his lifeless body finally coming to rest at the bottom of the hill. I looked back to see another man come staggering up from behind the wall of sandbags still in place. His stunned body weaved from side to side as his head came into view.

  BLAM!

  Chester’s rifle spoke ag
ain. The German’s head exploded before our eyes before he dropped out of view. Bill and Sam rushed forward and quickly gave us a thumbs-up; the machine gun nest was out of commission.

  “Sgt. Murphy, take your men forward,” Capt. Crocker instructed.

  “LET’S GO!” Murphy bellowed as he got to his feet. Chester pulled his rifle off Riddick and I looked down at the corporal’s mangled body. I remembered that kidney punch he’d given me and what a prick he’d always been; but I never wanted him to die like this. Somewhere he had a mother, and probably a father too. And whether his name was really George Riddick or not, they didn’t deserve for their son to die like this. As I looked at his bloody and torn-up body, my eyes fixed on the breast pocket of his jacket. I reached forward and slid my hand inside until I felt cool metal beneath my fingers. I quickly drew my hand back and slipped Johnny’s lighter deep into my pocket.

  “Alex, let’s go,” Harry’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. I saw the others moving warily up the hill, as were a number of other units now that the machine gun nest had been taken. There were exchanges of gunfire coming from the top of the hill as the battle continued.

  “Stay by me, Private,” Capt. Crocker said. “I may need that radio again.”

  SCREECH!

  A noise of wrenching metal caused us to turn. A landing craft carrying a tank had dropped its ramp at the beachfront. The deep thrumming roar of the tank’s engine filled the air as it lurched forward and rolled onto the corpse-littered beach. The guest of honour, arriving far too late for far too many.

  When we got to the top of the hill, the fighting raged on, with the Germans defending their position from trenches and foxholes. Hour upon hour, the fighting continued. It wasn’t until the early afternoon before we finally had control of the town and shortly after that reports came in that we’d taken the airstrip as well. Beyond the hilltop, many of the Germans were standing up in the trenches they’d been fighting from, guns on the ground and their hands clasped behind their heads. Most of them appeared to be just boys, no older than fourteen or fifteen.

  We’d been fortunate in that our squad hadn’t lost any more men. There were a lot of nicks and cuts all around, but nobody had been severely wounded.

  I turned and looked back at the beach; dead bodies lay strewn across the sand while bloated corpses floated in the sea, rolling lazily against the shore as the relentless waves kissed the bloody beach. I prayed I’d never see a day like this again.