Racism-Personal Narrative

avoid the marksman who discovered me, using the Nazi’s hedgehogs, metal barricades, for cover (Austra). The crater was now only about 10 yards in front of me, but they bullets started coming faster and in larger numbers. I took two more steps and dived forward. I landed in the crater, immediately turning around to look for Sgt. Thompson. I found the boat, but I couldn’t see him. Not a split second later, three guys pour out from around the corner of the boat, Sgt. Thompson included. The first man that turned the corner was instantly eliminated. I turned back around to cover them. I took aim at the bunkers and began to shoot at the bright lights flashing from the crow’s nests. These were the machine gunners. Each shot I took carefully, inhaling

and holding my breath to steady my aim, squeezing the trigger, and exhaling at the sound of the round being fired. I had a gunner in the sight of my rifle. I held steady, took the shot, and watched as the repeated light of the machine gun ceased. One Nazi down. Sgt. Thompson slid into the crater. I assumed the other soldier didn’t make it.
“Nice shooting!

Let’s figure out what our next move is and continue to move up.” he said. He looked over to the five men leaning against the sand. “We need to get behind that barbed wire and start advancing up those bluffs to those bunkers (Runge)! I’m Sgt. Thompson. I will be your new C.O. (this stood for Commanding Officer)!”
They were all low ranking soldiers. One of them spoke up, “I’m Pvt. Peters, and this is Pvt. Johnson, Pvt. Brown, and Pvt. McKenzie. We’ve been stuck here for quite some time! We need to hold up behind the wall of barbed wire (D-Day Barbed Wire), using the dunes for cover. We will be safe from enemy fire and can get some of these explosives to eliminate the wall so we can advance! We’ve been trying to radio for air support, but we aren’t getting a damn response!”
Sgt. Thompson suggested a plan. We were to move up to the wall, one by one, covered by Pvt. McKenzie. So we did just that, moving up one at a time, covering one another. Various troops were catching on to what we were doing and began to try and reach the dunes. Not all of them were successful. One soldier, only about 18 years old, popped his head up from his cover in the sand. His helmet instantly flew off of his head, and his head had all but disappeared. What seemed to be a gallon of red paint soaked the soldiers behind him. I lost sight of what was going on and fell into deep thought. Who is his mother? Where did he live before being sucked into the life-sucking abyss we called

war?
“Alright Private, you’re up” said Pvt. McKenzie. There was a slight pause, and then he yelled again, “Private!” trying to get me to wake up out of my daze. I snapped out of it and hoisted myself up out of the crater. Being exposed on that battlefield was an indescribable feeling. Everything was grey. The sand, the water, the sky, the bunkers, everything was colorless. It was as if life itself had been muted. The carcasses of those less fortunate than I lie still on the ground, mutilated and deformed. The only color other than grey was red, but that didn’t exactly add beauty to the scenery.
I began moving one foot after the other, each step faster than the last. I noticed a Thompson, an automatic assault rifle, lying on the ground in my path (Laurenceau). I picked it up and dropped the rifle I was holding. By the grace of God I made it to the wall. I was the last to go, besides Pvt. McKenzie. Now it was his turn. Sgt. Thompson waved for him to advance, but every time McKenzie went to lift his head he was shot at. He was trapped. His position was completely compromised. Pvt. Johnson looked over to me, and took the case of explosives out of his bag. He then ripped off his dog tags, handing me both the case and the tags. He looked at all of us, then to Pvt. McKenzie. McKenzie knew what he was doing, we all did. Johnson turned back to us and said, “Give ‘em hell boys.” He started unloading the ammunition out of his Thompson onto the bunkers. This bought Pvt. McKenzie enough to time to get up and run to us. We all turned and began to fire up at the bunkers, attempting to cover McKenzie as he did for us. Johnson took more than 20 rounds to the torso. His carcass laid on the sand, insides fully exposed.
I placed the explosives along the barbed-wire wall. I lit the fuse and we all rolled onto our bellies, backs facing the explosion. “Get down!” I screamed. Sand erupted from the ground making a huge cloud that lowered visibility for the Nazis. This was our chance. We all shot up and poured into the dunes through the gap in the wall we created. We were finally advancing by the hundreds. Because of the angle, we were fairly protected. We began climbing the cliffs up toward the bunkers. We got to the top and were immediately met with opposition. A Nazi came from right around a corner of a bunker and tackled me, attempting to stab me. I dropped my fire arm on impact, and he pinned me down. We struggled for a moment, his knife slowly poking into my left pectoral muscle. Out of nowhere, Pvt. Peters tackled him off of me. Peters got on top of him, pulled out his hand gun, and put a bullet in his head. He reached out for my hand and pulled me up. I grabbed my assault rifle and we kept pushing.
My group arrived at the first bunker.

We were at the only entrance, so we lined the wall, on each side of the door. Just as we were about to toss in explosives, a grenade rolled out. Pvt. Brown was the first to notice it. He leapt forward from the wall, and laid on top of it. Preparing for the worst, we all lowered our heads. It was a dud, ineffective. It didn’t go off, but Brown was fully exposed to all who were inside. Bullet after bullet penetrated his body. Pvt. Peters looked at the body of his once close friend. I saw the anger swell within him. Seconds later, he turned the corner into the doorway, screaming at an ear piercing level. “Die you German bastards!”

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