The five 7.92x57mm bullets ripped through his flesh and muscle with the same level of care and sensitivity as a chainsaw through an unwanted sapling; and with much the same amount of destruction.
The bullet that struck lowest literally grabbed his right kidney and exploded with it out his back. Simultaneously, the highest bullet was bursting from his left shoulder amid a profusion of blood, flecks of muscle, and bits of bone. The three other bullets had continued much the same fashion, leaving large, bloody holes strewn carelessly across his torso. All five bullets, now much slowed, smacked ‘harmlessly’ in the sand some distance behind him.
He wasn’t surprised. He had expected to die, expected to be shot or blown up. You can’t be the first man off the first Higgins LCM and expect to see the end of the war. He didn’t even expect to see a German. The solid “WHUMP” of the 300mm “Nebelwerfer” was enough to convince anyone of the reality of death, even someone who already had five gaping holes in their body.
He wasn’t surprised to find himself lying on his back. The shock acquainted with one’s insides being forcibly rearranged was enough to make anyone want to lie down; but the force of five bullets hitting home almost simultaneously would have been enough to put even Hercules over.
What did surprise him was that there was no pain. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel anything at all – the very real feeling of sand and pebbles in his clawing fingers was as real as the feel of Lynn’s golden hair against his palms. He could very realistically feel his own blood forming a small pool behind his head as he stared at the overcast sky. The clouds were almost the same color of grey as Lynn’s eyes. He could almost see and feel her beckoning, calling him home to her. Yes, he could feel alright. There just was no pain.
He was also somewhat surprised that the battle continued around him. Men were screaming, crying out in horrible and guttural sounds, occasionally mixed with the solid thud of bullets hitting mankind. Mortars exploded everywhere, one even showering him with sand and bits of hot metal. The sound of gunfire was a living thing, floating up and down, far and near as the battle thickened and thinned with the deaths of thousands. He hadn’t expected this, but it did seem logical, now that he had time to think about it. Before, he didn’t think about it, he just did what Lieutenant Johnson said. Now, since he was wounded but not in pain, he could simply think and think and think.
He thought he heard someone yell “Corpsman!” nearby, but the sounds of the 88mm Anti-air guns were deafening, as once again the British (God love the British!) tried to hammer the coastal defenses into submission. As the Aero planes disappeared, the sounds subsided back into the previous wafting of the M1 Garands’ and the Browning Automatic Rifles’ unsteady cacophony. Only now, over the sounds of fighting and dying, he could hear an awful, bloodcurdling scream. It continued and continued, pausing only occasionally, apparently for a breath, before starting up again.
The scream was horrifying, gurgling, and completely unreal. He thanked God in Heaven he was not in the kind of pain that scream must be in. Poor devil! Someone should either shoot him up on morphine, or shoot him once and for all. It really was terrifying, laying there hearing that scream. It wouldn’t stop, and it wouldn’t let this war be unimportant. He tried plugging his ears against the sound, but the blood covering his hands made it impossible to do so. He wished something would happen. The ocean waves lapped at his legs like a sad child trying desperately to comfort an adult they don’t know why is upset. He had to think, but he couldn’t think with that poor man screaming!
Suddenly, he saw and felt Lynn. He didn’t know how she had come to be here, but she was a very welcome sight. The blood and guts didn’t seem to bother her, his or anyone else’s, and the sights and sounds of bitter fighting were as unseen to her as sadness is to angels. She was smiling at him, softly petting his arms and face, crooning like she had a few months before when he couldn’t quite say goodbye.
She was talking to him, comforting him, telling him he could stop screaming now, that he was dead.
He was, and the screaming had stopped.
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