I can see the whisk of the mysterious midnight water as I looked left and right, the calm sea dragging time towards our deathly destiny. If only everything was so calm.

The bloody picked fingers nervously twitch, screwing and unscrewing lids of heavy metal bottles. Prayers to family and friends are made, the cross from face to chest, the chokes and coughs of young men; some to young, willing to fight for their country. My fellow men are shivering and their confidence collapsing every second. The soft caring movement of the wishing and pleads, hoping to be home by the fire with their loved ones; the smell of the Sunday Roast awaiting them from the oven, which is then snatched from beneath them. Instead they are faced with the unpleasant and serve job of staring death in the face.

As we gain closer the bellowing voice of the Sergeant repeats "reach to departure 3 minutes!" Time is ticking away. “Tick, tick, tick”. I can hear it beating the drums inside my head. The noise is constantly there. Last night’s stew becomes today’s decking from the ride of the waves we wished we never got on. The fear in the tired eyes pains me so much. The waves are now carrying us, up and down, up and down. The magnificent water racing faster and faster, the white sea horses rippling quickly across the deep, now murky water. The current racing against us to the finish; to crest on the sandy bed, but they would be returned would I?

“My dear son, I hope you are safe. I need you home so don’t do anything stupid. You already have haven’t you, you went to war.
To fight.
I remember him coming home from school one day battered and bruised like a peach he was bless him. He’s not a born fighter that’s why he is safer here in my arms.
STOP BEING PARANOID!
It was his choice. But he’s mine. But he isn’t really is he? He has grown since that fight. He has grown into a man; my son, a man!”

“Guns at the ready men”

My heart skipped a beat. The soft sweet silence was destroyed by the nervous broken faces and the shimmering toped water that had suddenly turned red. The golden sand is now a burial ground. Was I to be a member of this place?

I fall; I hit the once magnificent water. The silence, the peace, the tranquillity. I feel like I want to stay there, to live under the surface. Suddenly I begin to struggle, harder and harder I try to breathe. When I reach the surface I am met with a beastly vision. The struggles, the strains, the soliders. They’re dying; the death defying screams haunt me. These visions are branded in my mind amongst the smoke filled air. I’m chocking but I am still, my limbs they can’t move.
I’m stuck.
“Help!” But I have no voice over the powerful mighty roar. Let it stop!

I can see it, the red blossoming liquid floating around by chest. I can see it, the long noble strike inflicted in my soul. I can see it, the pit of hell that I face. I can see it, the groan of my voice disappearing into the inky pool, where I lay. I can see it, the murky blackness coming to a close. I can see it. I can taste it. I can feel it. It’s the death at war.

“Dear Mrs Darcy,
I am afraid to say, your son will not be returning from the war on Omaha Beach. We have had a terrible loss amongst us. He was a proud young solider with a lot of potential. We can’t believe it has come to this. He was a loved solider. I am so sorry for your loss.”

I can see the whisk of the mysterious midnight water as I looked left and right, the calm sea dragging time towards our deathly destiny. If only everything was so calm.