Here’s the nth story.

“You ready, monkeys?” asks the sergeant. You nod. You’re too nervous for the usual shouted affirmative.

You huddle at the back of the oblong grey boat as German shells smash into the water all around you. You think it’s miraculous you haven’t been splattered yet. You drift past shards of metal in the water, sliding like a ghost in the fog. You can see the beach now. Beach defenses and rubble pepper its rough crew cut of a surface. The German defense towers rise on the cliffs like gun-metal guardsmen, silent and invincible.

You black out. You wake up with your compatriots having not noticed. They’re all too scared, even Sarge. They look away from you, faces hidden in the steel fog.

The boat sedges to a stop on the beach, and the first machine gun shells of many more to come bounce off the head of your boat. You don’t dare to peer over the side, but if you did, you assure yourself you could see dozens of the other boats, thousands of your friends ready to charge against the Führer. Ready to help.

The moment of happiness lasts for a sweet second, and then the terrible reality of the present rushes back as the gate of the boat creaks.

“All right, monkeys,” grunts Sarge. “Let’s go.”

You charge. Up the beach, shells flying everywhere. Red mist red mist. You fire at nothing in particular. Muzzle flashes. Up to the hills. Below the cliff. Black uniform above you. Gun points down you dodge not fast enough

bang.

You wake up in a hospital bed. 1953, eight years after the ultimate defeat of the Axis. Your family is all around you. It’s a happy day, even though you’ve been diagnosed with chronic amnesia and post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Ten days later, you go back.

“You ready, monkeys?”

~ by pieboy on November 27, 2006.