Jacob’s Beach Head
The Beach Head
It was hard to imagine the day had begun just a few short hours ago…
He felt as though they had been on this horrible, bloody beach for days now, not just a few hours. A few hours, how could that be? He had seen more bloodshed smelled more fear and shed more tears than he would ever admit.
Leaning with his back against an old beachhead wall, Jacob watched in frozen silence as a medic gave up on Peter, his friend since the early days of boot camp. And now the sheet of death, that was what some men called the blanket, the death sheet was being pulled all the way up and over Peter’s head. His friend who just several minutes ago was right along side him was now dead. What a shame. More death, more pain. No more tears for Peter.
At least now Jacob thought, the day was over for Pete. In fact Peter’s days were all over, gone forever. Would it be the same for Jacob? Would he make it through this God awful day to see the sunrise tomorrow, or would this be it? Was there a sheet of death waiting for Jacob a little further along the beach? Maybe just behind the next obstacle in the sand, or perhaps that death spewing, confounded pillbox up ahead.
That’s when a medic crawled up to him.
Hey Johnson, here’s a live one. Quick get some morphine in him, we have a Higgins boat about to head back with more wounded.
Gosh mac, look at his legs, i mean there’s hardly anything left but shreds and…
Will you shut up dummy, he’s not dead and he’s not unconscious so…
You mean he can hear me?
Darn right he can hear you!
With a little help from you guys I can probably walk to the boat, said Jacob, yeah my legs are feeling better now. I think I can make it on my own.
That’s how the day ended for private 1st class Jacob Stanfield.
It was eleven a.m. D-Day.
When Synapses Go Bad 