Caen Part 1

D Day – June 10th

The British came ashore near Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer. Sword Beach they called it. Boiling onto the shore with the tide, as seemingly indifferent to our fiery protest as to the spray of the sea. The sand erupted beneath them with fire and earth, the sea swallowed many beneath it’s grey waves, the entire beach seemed to shake with the hail storm of our bullets. Still they came on, relentless. The day was theirs, and that night we fell back to Caen. The darkness brought neither rest nor reprieve, and their assault resumed with the dawn. The first push came behind their tanks. Confidently, arrogantly, they rattled across the fields shaking off our guns, ignoring our snipers. But we were ready for them. Long before the city streets five of their tanks were burning wreckage, the rest scattered and retreating.

That morning I was patrolling the East side of town, near a deep valley. We were tasked with that flank as the town was battered head on from the North, and it was a good thing we were there. We swung East and North, roughly following a path through the dense forest. Creeping through the undergrowth, slowly leap-frogging down the slope, it wasn’t long before we came upon an enemy platoon heading the other way. They were cautious, hugging the edges of the path, eyes darting in every direction. But they were hurried, they weren’t cautious enough. I was on point and caught sight of them in time to motion my men into an ambush formation. We sank into the underbrush and vanished. Birds sang cheerfully in the forest around us, at odd contrast with the echoing rattle and thunder from Caen at our backs. I stared at the leaves in front of me, watched a small spider as he reached the end of a leaf, ears straining. Without hesitation he stepped out into space and rappelled easily to the ground. Footsteps approached, soft in the dappled sunlight and deep shadows between the trees. My open mouthed breath sounded loud in my ears, my fingers clenched and unclenched on my gun. Agonizing moments passed, the crunch of leaves, hushed whispers, creaking leather and clanking metal, so quiet I might have imagined it. Closer still, and suddenly a dog barked. It was just enough to startle the men, now nearly upon us, they dropped and were still. Silence rolled over us like thick, drowning waves. I thought of a cemetery with the graves all opened, bodies lying scattered across an open field while the spider reached a stem of some plant and started to climb again. Then the enemy was easing to their feet, I could almost sense their exchanged glances, their hand signals, their renewed alertness.

But Luck was with us, our position was perfect. I listened carefully as they passed beside me, just downhill, as they crept oh so slowly, so carefully, past my men. There were only about 10 of us, and with nothing but intuition I supposed at least 30, maybe 40 of them. And then it was time. There was no need for shouted signals, the every sense of every man in that forest were strained to the utmost. With a soft, low whistle, almost soothing, I rose smoothly to my feet, rifle shouldered, safety off. Almost as one we stood and for that billionth of a second had time to register the confusion, the utter perplexity on their faces. My finger squeezed the trigger, and then again before I was completely upright. By the time the bang hit my ears and the recoil my shoulder I was turning on my third man. It happened as if in slow motion, and yet all in one instant; the utter silence, the surprise, the gunfire, the explosion of noise, and we didn’t stop there. Every man had picked his first shot, and ten of them were dead, before we had quite drawn their attention another 10 followed. After that the scene erupted into pandemonium, each man firing as fast as he was able at the next thing moving, and when nothing more moved we fired in the general direction.

Only a moment had passed. The blink of an eye. but oh the difference one moment can make. Nothing remained of the peaceful forest only seconds passed, now there were screams, fire, blood and death. There had been only a smattering of return fire, and as is the nature of firing up hill it had streaked over our heads. We advanced low and fast, firing on the barest suspicion of movement, until another moment had passed and the work was done. Not a single one of us was injured, and we counted 36 men dead or dying on the hillside. Quickly we grabbed equipment, weapons and bullets. Reaching down my eyes locked suddenly with one man, blood bubbling through his lips. He just stared at me, eyes searching, puzzling. I nodded to him and moved on.

Soon we were back in Caen, and the situation was much the same as before. Our few tanks had been unleashed and several of theirs lay burning all around.