It’s taken you hours to cross the Channel. Those with you have mostly been quiet, thinking about what lies ahead. The man to your left has been mumbling Psalm 23 to himself over and over. The one across from you has literally turned white. The one to your right has been vomiting and bits of it have spewed onto your boots. Planes fly over you, one of them trailing smoke as it loses altitude. Explosions have gotten louder and more frequent. That new lieutenant who’s not yet ever needed to shave gives the signal. You feel a low thud as the landing craft’s ramp drops. Somehow you stand, in a low crouch, and head out...
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