June 6th 1944, Normandy. Albert Davies sat on the shore helpless and trembling, clinging onto his British Lee-Enfield MK4 rifle as bullets flew all around and landed in water just like the handful of pebbles that his 7 year old son would throw continuously into the pond across his house in Jordanstown, north of Belfast city back in Britain.
"Lass niemanden lebend entkommen" shouted German gunmen firing incessantly from their concrete bunkers that guarded the shore.
More heartwrenching than the bratat of machine guns were the anguished wailes of his fellow soldiers who already had the enemy's burning ammunition stuck in them. They yelled upon death to rid themselves from the immense pain.
The English channel surrounding this beach had become a foaming pool of smelling diluted blood.
"Albert dear, go fearless and come back victorious, go my son, I shall wait to meet you soon" his father's parting words echoed in his ears.
"Move...move! Take cover...go go!!" cried someone from the ranks as shells exploded nearby.
Albert gathered courage, got up quickly and began to run, maintaining a cautious ducking posture.
Zip!! One of the many bullets sprinting past hit him right in the middle of his chest, he felt molten metal flowing down his skin. He had not pulled his trigger even once as yet, 'Is this what I had come for?' he thought before dying and drifted away into the sea never to be seen again.
