The Long Road

Chapter Two.

November 8, 1942 - Oran, Algeria. North Africa.

My ears rang. I could see them shouting, their mouths spread wide, yelling something. I had never been here before, I had no idea what they could be shouting.

I was 'fresh.' That's what the seasoned combat veterans of the 1st Infantry Division called me. Fresh. It meant I had never seen combat, seen war. They were right. Two years ago if you told me I would be here, fighting in The Second Great War, I would've laughed. This was Brittan's war, the Soviet Union's. This war belonged to the Polish, the French, Italian, and every other Nazi occupied country.

December 7th, 1941, at approximately 7:48 a.m. Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, severely damaging the Navy, and pushing the United States into war with Japan. It was some days later that Germany declared war on the States, and we responded with a declaration in return. That put me here, on this beach, covered in sand and sweat.

I was flat against the sand. Soldiers ahead of me, behind me, to my left and right. They were moving up, forward, some were still, they would never move again.

My hearing started to come back. I could hear the cracks of rifles, I could hear the yelling now. NCO's were shouting orders, wounded were shouting for help, others were just shouting in frustration.

I began to crawl, like they taught is in boot camp. Elbows out, fist tucked into chest, rifle resting in between your body and your arms, push with your feet, and keep your head down. I was doing just that.

I crawled for what seemed like hours, I dared to not look up. I had this feeling that if I did I would see the end of a barrel pointed at me, and at the other end would be an Afrika Korps troop, a Nazi.

But I did look up, I saw men everywhere, some crawling like me, some running, all forward to the sand bar, that's where they stacked up. I got up, and ran, as fast as I could to the bar. I felt that if I could make it there, I would live.

The sand kicked up from my feet as I pushed harder and harder. My helmet bobbed on my head, a few times I had to push it up out of my eyes, these things never fit right. I was leaping over bodies, I didn't look at them, I didn't want to. I was afraid I might have known them, maybe played cards with them on the ship, shared a smoke, I didn't want to see their faces, so I just kept my eyes on the sand bar.

When I reached my point of salvation, as I saw it. I could hear the yelling more clearly. One voice picked up over the rest.

Sergeant Jack Solomon, 1st Infantry Division, 16th Regiment. My NCO, was shouting out orders to the men around him.

We were told that when we landed on the beach, we were to push up, regroup, and assault our objectives. I took in Sergeant Solomon's orders.

"We've got to clear out these defense so our Armor can land! Cross over the bar, move fast, and keep your head down!"

The order was followed by 'Yes Sirs!" and grunts. Soldiers began pushing over the sand bar. The soldier beside me stood and began his climb over the bar when a bullet struck his helmet, sending blood all over the dark sand, and me.

I was horrified, I could feel the warm, crimson liquid splat on my face. I could see the specks of it on my sleeve, I was stunned, I just watched a man die less than a foot away from me.

A hand grabbed the back of my jacket, another Sergeant whom I did not know, he was from a different regiment.

"Move your ass soldier!" he yelled, pushing me up.

I half climbed, half tumbled over the sand bar. The other side was just as horrific as the previous side I had been on. The landscape strewn with bodies, men running, shooting, and shouting. Ahead I could see small, concrete bunkers, the black slits flashed, that was our objective. In between the bunkers I could see other men running back and forth, shooting, shouting, they were our enemy.