Pointe du Hoc
This is my attempt at a very hard subject to write about. I feel its essentially impossible to write any sort of war story, especially on the World Wars, without personal interviews with the veterans themselves. Its such a subject that no author, artist or, well, anyone, can imagine it.
This is my attempt at it; I recently visitted the battlefield itself and its a strange experince, but it also made me turn away from my fascination of First World War history and take a look at World War Two, and specifically, D - Day. The story I have put together is a product of month's of historical research in my attempt to make it as realistic as possible.
Point out every little negative, please. And what I should keep in. This is a rough draft. It is under constant revision.
Rangers Part; the scaling of Pointe du Hoc to the Fall of Brittany and the Siege of Brest
6th of June, 0630, 10 miles off Pointe du Hoc, Normandy Region, Occupied France
When Edward Sword looked behind him, he saw the monstrous figure of steel, a beast which surpassed the size of anything built on earth before. The USS Texas seemed to eclipse the myths of Greek times, with its modern, long cannons extending over the small flotilla of boats which bobbed silently in the surf. The 14-inch naval guns were protectively shadowing Edward's craft as it joined with the line of other Landing Craft, Assault and DUKW's. The small group of fourteen landing craft were fill with 200 Rangers led by Colonel Rudder, who had proudly raised them since 1942 so they were the best fighting force in the entire invasion fleet. After month's of training up in Scotland, they had been quickly transported to Southern England, where they boarded in Southampton onto numerous transport ships. On the night of the 5th of June they had stealthily anchored off the Normandy coast and wait for the dreaded dawn, a dawn in which all the dreams, plans and hopes of the Free world were put into motion.
The invasion of the Nazi Stronghold of Europe.
With the five beaches to be filled with American, British and Canadian troops, plus Norwegian, Dutch, Polish, New Zealand and many other Allied nations, they would be fragile before reinforcement. Gold, Juno and Sword beaches were relatively flat and easy to hold. Utah was protected by 13 000 American Airborne troops, the 82nd and 101st. But Omaha was vulnerable, and the worst possible beast, kraken of the land, awaited only four miles to the west. Six large 155mm guns, poised to rain shells on the overcrowded Omaha beach, which in itself was the most heavily defended of them all, could ruin the invasion. The Allies needed Omaha. The Axis needed Omaha. The guns would win them Omaha.
So the elite had to be sent in, and that elite was Colonel Rudder's 2nd and 5th battalion Rangers. It would be no easy job. With 30 metre cliffs opposing them, there was a swamp of misery once that cliff was conquered. But the Rangers would do it. From North Africa to Italy to the Pacific, the Rangers always got the job done.
The flotilla of tiny landing craft engaged their engines and rumbled off towards the fog enshrouded Pointe du Hoc. It loomed out of the fog as they approached it, a silent, menancing beast which would roar at them, cut them down any second. But the roar instead came from behind, as the USS Texas suddenly opened fire from its smaller 5 inch guns to the large 16 inch. The rangers in the LCA's all covered their ears as the dragonic roar split overhead. It was exhilirating, and the rangers cheered as the heard the deep, pounding thumps as shell after shell was pumped into Pointe du Hoc. The cliffs spewed fire, and they were engulfed in turmoil, and thick black smoke after several minutes of the shelling.
Some say they will never forget the roar of the 16 inch guns. The smoke, some said it could have reached the horrible cliffs of the Pointe itself. The massive steel monsters rocked backwards with every thundering boom, one which the earth hadn't heard since Krakatoa exploded. Some also say they'll never forget when Colonel Rudder realized they were heading towards Omaha and not the Pointe.
"Its that way! Your heading towards Charlie beach, we're going to the Pointe!" he roared over the boom of the Texas, Saterlee and assorted destroyers, and the throb of the LCA's engine. The Royal Navy seamen must've read his lips, because the flotilla was quickly heading for the Pointe.
How the British sailors missed it is a wonder, but with the smoke most understood. On a normal day the Pointe was identifiable miles away. Even on Utah beach, over ten miles away, you could see the Pointe, a natural fortress which Rommel had made the best use out of. It was now a redoubt, a observation post for the guns situated along the Norman coast. It had bunkers, casements, a maze of trenches. The Pointe was alive with activity, it was so heavily fortified, and the quick bombardment by the Eighth Air Force had hardly hurt the Fort.
Edward Sword prayed, making the sign of the cross as he whispered some plea to God, a wish to come back home, to New York, and live out his life like he would've if the war hadn'tve happened. A wave crashed over the bow of the LCA, showering the thirty rangers in cold, stinging water. Edward spat out the dehydrating salt water, but others were going a step further. The water was slowly pooling at the flat floor of the LCA, and was sloshing around in a horrible mixture of sea water and vomit. The men hurriedly took off their M1 helemts and were scooping the water before pitching it over the side.
"What the hell is happening!?" yelled the RN sailor.
"The waters pooling!" yelled back a Captain from the front.
"The filter ain't working, mate! It ain't long till the beach now though!" comforted the seamen, roaring at the top of his voice over the boom of the Texas. After minutes of ridding the water, the Texas roared one last time in a final crack, before falling silent, leaving the rangers to their doom. They were barely a mile off the Pointe now, and the thirty metre high cliff was now towering over them.
"We're on our own now." whispered the Captain. After a few minutes one of the seamen swore loudly,
"Swamped LCA to our left! Keep clear!" he warned loudly to the driver who nodded grimly, looking green. Edward was staring up at the Pointe, where it dominated his line of sight. There was nothing else but that monstrous cliff. It seemed impossible to climb it. He looked back, and saw the line of US and RN battleships and destroyers, silent and waiting for their fate.
It was at that moment that the cliff came alive. A dormant monster, some Vesuvius, a Frankenstein, which came alive. The entire top of the cliff was illuminated with bright flashes, and they heard the dull thumping as artillery started to fire from the rear.
"Incoming fire!" roared the gunner. A row of machine gun bullets led up to the LCA before stopping, followed by geysers of water as mortar shells exploded around them.
"Keep your heads down!" The cliff was rumbling, roaring with cracks and booms. The Germans were throwing everything they had at the rangers. There was a crash and a explosion, and to their left one of the DUKW's exploded in hot red flames, sinking slowly in its inferno. Edward saw people floundering in the water, struggling to keep afloat as bullets kicked up water around the sole survivor.
"Its too intense!" roared the gunner, panicking. Bullet holes were around the guard he had on his Lewis machine gun.
"We have to drop them off! Release the grapples!" The two tubes which were attached to the LCA exploded, and a tube of flames ejected from it followed by a black, wet rope which was fired up at the cliff. The fire stopped for a moment, before it started, less then before. Now black ropes were hanging off the rough cliff face.
"Twenty seconds!" This was the moment. This was the moment that people from Eisenhower to the lowest private, from Hitler to the citizens of Normandy had imagined. This was the Free World destroying Hitler's dictatorship, bringing peace to the world through violence.
"Ten seconds!"
0710, at the base of Pointe du Hoc, June 6th
"Lower the ramps!
Edward only hear the explosions as mortars exploded around their boat, sparying the inside of the boat with freezing water. Shovering, soaked, the Royal Navy seamen shuffled through the jumbled ranks of rangers and let the rigging go.
"Good luck lads." he wished. With a mechancial grind the ramp slipt down, splashing into the water. The Pointe was directly in front of them, and a cold wind poured into the stifled air of the LCA. Edward looked outside, the beach cvered in craters, smoke and dead rangers. It was peaceful, calm and serene. From the top of the cliff a muzzle flash blared, and over the shoulder of the man in front he saw the bullets pepper up the beach towards their full craft.
"Disembark!" roared the driver. Edward looked back as the man in front fell back on him, limp. The driver was yelling at him, and there were twenty scared faces staring at him, in absolute fear. Edward looked at the beach again. Gasping for air, he jumped from the ramp into the knee deep water, and started wading towards the tiny strip of sand. Rangers were underneath the face of the cliff, waving at them to come in. Holding his M1 Garand over his head so it wouldn't get wet, he moved slowly through the water, a prime target for the gunners. He was following the distorted figure of a Captain, who was running through the water, dragging along rangers towards the Pointe, but when a screen of thick smoke floated by, he was gone. Edward looked back, searching for his comrades, and there were several rangers still coming in. The man next to him was carrying his M1 Garand with one hand while the other hung, ripped apart by bullets. A medic splashed by in front, carrying a ranger on his back, followed by two other medics. Edward followed the line, forming a procession towards what must have been the roaring figure of Rudder, who was standing with a group of officers around him. The battalion surgeon was there, calming a screaming ranger who was holding the side of his open head. The man on the medic in front watched Edward as he followed them, his eyes in silent pain, and Edward knew he would be screaming if he could.
The medic in front fell back, crushing the wounded man on his back, riddled with bullets. Moving around the dead body, Edward suddenly fell. He was submerged under water, and found himself in a large crater. Desperately trying to stay afloat, or at least reach up for a breath, his Garand held him down, as did the seventy pound pack on his back. Reaching high, he found he stopped sinking, and that he resting on top of another dead ranger. The dead body, because thats all it was, a immobile dead body, was flattened against the side of the crater, eyes wide open, but stone dead. . Someone pulled him out though, and dragged him towards the beach. The LCA was dead in the water, gunner and driver dead. There were four bodies, lifeless, in the LCA, pools of blood seeping out. The strong hand dragged Edward along, and he saw the LCA next to them drop its ramp. A young boy fell out, stone dead, but two lines jumped out, before sloshing in towards the beach. Bullets were firing everywhere. All he could hear was noise. Mortars exploding, hand grenades popping off everywhere, machine gun bullets peppering the beach. One man disappeared under the surf, swallowed by another crater. Edward turned to face the person who had saved him, and found it was Adam. He handed Edward a M1 Garand.
"Lets stick together." he stated, and Edward nodded simply. With rounds exploding all around them they moved closer to the comfort of the cliff, where a small group of rangers were gathered around the base of a rope. Several soldiers were already scaling the cliff, some without a rope, making ledges with their M3 knives, and all of them were being fired on by Germans who appeared at the top to fire down at them, though none cut the ropes.
"Up the rope, we have to get up there!" yelled a Staff Sgt. Edward volunteered to go, and soon found himself ascending the rough rocks. The rope, and Edward, was swaying with every gust of wind, and the wet rope was cutting into his hand, leaving red burn marks. But he kept going. He didn't look down, or out to sea, but always up. A German appeared, holding a long rifle, and fired down at the man climbing next to Edward. He let out a cry, and hanging out by one hand, the other holding his chest, he yelled out to the crowded sea;
"Goodbye, all!" Before letting go. Edward squeezed his eyes shut, before continuing on. As he approached the top the rope next him collasped, releasing down the cliff, sending several rangers to a watery death.
But finally, he reaches the top, where he enters a new world.
0730, at the top of Pointe du Hoc, June 6th
He pitched over the top, scrabbling over the dirt, pulling himself up on his belly. MG rounds were whistling overhead, rifle roinds ringing all around. Edward followed the man in front did he fell backwards, without a glance Edward slid into a crater, gasping at what he just saw. it hadn't been the death everywhere, it had been the hell he just saw. he took a peek over the rim of the crater to see the hell again, and strangely, it was amazing.
Imagine a flat green plane. The grass is rich due to the constant rain over the Pointe. The rounded rock, like the chase of a couch, is something similar to Iwo Jima's Suribachi, though not as large. It is bare, looking straight out to the beautiful sea. It leads inland, where there is lovely farmland, green meadows, empty, before being dotted with trees. it is wet, misty and moist, and a slight breeze is constantly present.
Destroy that image. It is now a living hell. Craters are everywhere, a crater every metre is a fair estimate. it is all turned up dirt, and instead of fences and trees there is bunkers, constantly spewing out fire, flames and bullets. Smoke is everywhere, so much smoke! It clouds the field like a half blind man and his vision. There is nothing but smoke, bullets and flames. Edward ducked down again, before emerging, sprinting over the dirt, tripping in potholes from grenades. He rolled into a crater, sliding to the bottom. The MG opens fire again, and he watches the tracer round flicker overhead. Were they watching him? When it stopped he merged again, a cornered rat, and scampered across the field. The MG opens up, and the rounds patter around him, violent rain. Screaming as the rounds skip past him, piercing every bit of equipment. His helmet pings with the rounds, his haversack ripped to shreds. Still screaming, he collapsed into a trench, panting.
"Your one lucky bastard!" roars a voice, before a gun opens fire above him. A lean SSgt was standing, firing his BAR over the trench towards the sound of the guns.
"That '42 had it sights on you." he confirmed, ducking to pull out a new bar of ammo. Before reloading, he offered a hand to Edward, "Fights not over yet." he pulled Edward to his feet, from where he reloaded the magazine. Along the trench was a squad of soldiers. Ducking, Edward went through the trench, bits of wood and dirt flying past him, rounds clattering to the floor. As he passed a man he collapsed behind Edward, slumped against the trench wall, half of his face missing. Edward looked away, the dead body reminded him of...people. Moving along, he found the single bar of a first Lieutenant. He was pressed against the trench wall, gripping it in absolute fear, a Colt held against his rising chest.
"Lieutenant, we need to move!" Edward yelled at him, as a ranger stumbled past, screaming in pain as a medic rushed after him, "That mg is ripping us to shreds!" The medic ran back past, covered in blood.
"Incoming!" warned a panicked voice, "We have artillery incoming!" The SSgt came up to them, as the Lt slumped to the floor.
"Sir..."There was a sharp ringing before five meters to the front of the trench the ground exploded with a force unseen. Edward yelled, falling to the ground as another round blew up some yards to the left. Edward staggered down the trench, tracers overhead. Edward watched as a man was detached from his leg, a round nearby. Two men sheltering nearby gone...gone...gone..... Edward fell, tripped on a body. Blood was pooling at the trench. A man tried to escape, but he was pulled back by a German bullet. Another round, the man in front was gone. All gone, just disappeared.
"Staff!" a voice yelled. A SSgt behind Edward looked up, a Captain running at him, "The guns-aren't-here!" The Captain told him.
"What the hell is here?"
"Some damn telephone poles! Who is in command?" asked the Captain. The SSgt paused slightly.
"A Lieutenant down there. Youngish." The Captain chuckled.
"Aren't they all, staff? Thanks." He went off, down along the trench to speak to the Lt.
"So what now?" Edward asked. The SSgt looked at him curiously.
"Now we find the bastards."
~
This is only a slight bit of the first Chapter. It focuses more on the event of the landing then the character, and thats why the story has been done in third person. Any criticism is welcome!
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Pointe du Hoc today.
