This is unfinished, but the concept all the same is all there.
And When They Get To Heaven
And when they get to heaven,
To St Peter they will tell,
Another soldier for you sir,
I’ve served my time in hell.
The 6th of June 1944 was a choppy, overcast day on the Normandy coast. The sky pressed against the cliffs and the sea, aided by the mist and fog, as the German defenders slept in their bunkers.
Corporal Schmidt awoke early and gingerly hobbled to the gun slit in the main bunker, his left leg trailing across the floor. He took little notice of the weather or complexion of the sea. He had slept in his faded, frayed grey uniform and one of his Jack boots had worn almost through the soul. He had noticed two days earlier, but did not care. In his mind he would not need to walk to reach the place he was going to. He yawned, stretched and stumbled slightly as he was still groggy from the previous nights drinking. Like most of the others in the battalion, Schmidt had not shaved for nearly two weeks. This was not because there were no razors available, but because he had became more and more introvert the longer he spent in his bunker and thought he could hide his fear behind a mass of greasy brown facial hair. Just as he regained balance, the phone rang, it was Group Captain Lehdl. The usual small talk ensued, Lehdl commented on the weather, jokingly proclaiming his apartment in Munich would be forfeit, if the allies attacked in such unfavourable conditions.
Schmidt put the phone down to the now ingrained statement “Heil Hitler.” He turned, again looking outside. There was nothing. In his head he chuckled at the comment made by Lehdl, turning to look outside to give context to his comment. The chuckle broke into violent choking. Schmidt ducked, a delayed response to a smothering drone, becoming higher in pitch the nearer it came, the tone broke into a whistle, before violently exploding in a climax of shuddering power. It was a shell hitting the cliff below him. He scrambled across the now dust-laden floor to reach for the phone.
The weather that day was, although unfavourable, the best the allies could expect for many weeks. Waiting for another lengthy period was not an option; as keeping the largest armada the world had ever seen moored in docks on the south coast of England was a big threat to the whole operation. Secrecy was the operations key factor as the allies had spent months convincing the Germans, at great cost, that the invasion would come at the Pas-De-Calais. This was done using the O.S.S spy network, a system of double agents, false information and a phantom army at Dover consisting of inflatable, wooden and semi-camouflaged vehicles. Responsible for these essentially over-sized toys were the U.S 1st army, commanded by General Patton. The element of surprise was essential to ensure a beachhead could quickly be established and stall the enemy in bringing in reinforcements to a weakened part of the coastal defences.
DWIGHT.D.EISENHOWER: TO : W.S.CHURCHILL 5.6.1944
IT IS MY BELIEF THAT THE WEATHER IS THE BEST WE CAN HOPE TO EXPECT FOR MANY WEEKS. THE STRAIN ON THE TROOPS IS NOW BEGINNING TO BECOME UNBEARABKLE. I SAY GO.
Dearest Marie, 5.6.1944
We are now finally going to meet old Jerry. Don’t be worried about me, I’m terribly excited about the whole business actually. Anyway, cant talk about it too much, ‘eyes and ears’ and all that. Send my love to the little one and send my thanks to Mrs Latham for the chocolate, the boys found it most satisfying. I hope this finds you well and after this whole business is done with, I’ll be home before you know it.
All my love,
John
Lieutenant John Sampson nearly capsized on his approach to the beach. Whenever his body allowed him an interval from vomiting through the mixture of fear and the violent rocking of the boat, his thoughts were with his family back home. He was certain he would survive the battle and eventually return home.
He could not fathom the idea that God would deny him being a father to his son.
The sea had other ideas. He drowned after disembarking on Sword Beach. The weight of his pack and rifle took him under. He never did meet old Jerry.
* * *
Schmidt, expected to see the allies cantering across the sand, flags abreast, screaming CHARGE!! Instead, he saw most were screaming for their mothers as their innards hung loose next to them. The rest hid behind anti-tank girders. Schmidt felt a satisfaction when he pulled the trigger of the MG42, it was not a sadistic satisfaction, just a relief that he had lessened the odds of him receiving one in the backside.
The day I meet Jerry,
Sternly I will say,
Where were you?
At the turkey shoot?
Were your friends blown away?
DWIGHT.D.EISENHOWER: TO: W.SCHURCHILL 6.6.1944
GOLD,JUNO,SWORD,UTAH BEACH ALL ON SCHEDULE.OMAHA BEACH SUFFERING HEAVY CASUALTIES.STERN RESISTANCE. STEADY PROGRESS.
All but Omaha beach were now secure, Omaha was now saturated in every imaginable way. Blood, innards, smoke and the smell of death hugged every combatants throats, choking the wounded as they held their legs, arms, intestines, all removed from their bodies without prejudice.
Schmidt was now dead; he had been assigned to a howitzer and, because of its continuous use, the heat had expanded and contracted the structure of the tubing, setting off the loaded shell, the cache around it and vapourising all nine crew. The explosion was greeted with screams of sarcasm by one advancing soldier: “Did the bastards not know the shells go in the mortar, not up their arses!!” A Mulberry harbour neared completion around the beaches, allowing ships to moor against them and pound the bunkers, giving the advancing troops to establish a beachhead.
DWIGHT.D.EISENHOWER: TO : W.S.CHURCHILL 6.6.1944
OPERATION COMPLETE.BEACHHEAD ESTABLISHED.GERMAN ARMY IN RETREAT.BY GOD WE’VE DONE IT.
Today I met Jerry,
That question I did say,
His eyes were there,
But soul was bare,
I saluted anyway.
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