"They fight not for the lust of conquest. They fight to end conquest. They fight to liberate."- President Franklin D. Roosevelt

    “Have ya got anyone left?” A portly man spoke to the slouched young man cheerfully as he weaved his way through the mass of frigid soldiers whose eyes were trained on the land growing rapidly closer. Much to their dismay, their long voyage across the body of water was coming to an end and the project was about to begin. The man, also the General of this particular unit, slammed his coarse hand on the younger man’s helmet causing a wave of pain to spiral through his head. The younger man, most likely in his early 20s judging by his lack of facial hair flinched and squeezed his eyes shut as a tremor of fear traveled through him at the sound of a canon in the distance.

     The General usually had a hard face with stress lines overly exaggerated on his forehead and laugh lines that often made the other comrades wonder if he even had the ability to laugh. Today was the only day they’d ever seen a massive grin of triumph on the man’s face. The harsh wind rocked the boat and the men with rifles besides them shivering with fright were forcefully shifted off their benches before returning to their seat once it was gone. Their helmets rose off their vulnerable, shaved heads, however a firm hand and a stern look from their comrades kept them tidy. Their spines were dislocated, nerves shaking, the need to hurl more urgent than previous battles.

     The General’s blue eyes glazed with excitement as he turned back to face the icy ocean, and laughed with all the cells in his body. Nobody bothered raising an eyebrow at his unusual behavior. With his hands attached to his hips, he roughly placed himself between the young man and the edge of the small boat.

     “Pardon?” the young man finally replied in a soft voice, a voice too soft for the army and definitely too weak for the disaster minutes away from unleashing on these cowardly men.

     The bigger man wasn’t perturbed by the fact that he had to repeat himself. His smiling lips only repeated the question. “I asked if you have someone at home. A mother, sister?”

     “Oh,” the young man mumbled, sucking in his lips. He pondered for a moment, dark washed out eyes gazing aimlessly at the bare sand. The air was thick and foggy, mist covering the men’s eyes, deceiving them with what they yearned to see versus what they wanted to escape from. It emulated their empty souls and all the soldiers could do was grit their teeth and grasp their responsibilities by the collar, shoving their pride and happiness down their own throats.

     “Wife and daughter,” the young man finally rasped, a clear depiction of his teary eyed wife cradling their four month year old daughter against her chest at the day of his departure. He tipped his head down as if shamed by the crime he had committed by leaving them alone in the name of his beloved country, toying with his cut fingers.

     “Beautiful!” the General spoke with immense enthusiasm. The young soldier felt glances from his peers as their eyes bore into his clothed back, muttering indecent swears at the man who abandoned his family. The general continued, “Ya got somethin’ to go home for. F.D.R says our ladies are waiting for us to return. We’re men aren’t we?"

      A weak chant of agreement ran through the body of half dead soldiers. They glanced quietly at each other, silently apologizing if they had caused any disturbance or trouble. The larger ships behind them had engines the size of two men long and three men wide and they were nothing but grimy murderers. Blood was going to be leaked out of their holy veins and spill into the beautiful ocean but the engines roared and ignored the pleas. Suddenly, the other boy wanted to laugh breathlessly. As if he would make it out alive! There was no chance the filthy Germans hadn’t any inklings about this operation. There were vigilant eyes everywhere, he had unfortunately discovered, and there was always a mouth to pass on the gruesome details. The General’s optimistic view wasn’t as effective as he had strived for even though his excited tone could seem convincing to a blind man.

     As the boats reached closer to the shore, the men slowly lost their hope of survival and clutched their guns closer to their guts. The heavy noise of the cannons behind the small front line boats stopped and men began splashing the water with the wood in their hands. The engines slowed until the soldiers barely felt the movements. The water turned clear, ready for innocent blood to mix in with the salt, and the ripples came to a halt. The General took a deep breath, as if it were his last, and faced the men. He spoke in a low voice. “Water is five feet deep. Wait for my signal and start charging-” he glanced over his shoulder at the remainder of his troop he had grown to love over the past weeks of ruthless training. “Remember, you are the front line, the most important. I’ll bet everything I have that the bloody Germans are waiting for us at that beach. Weaken them! If this is goodbye gentlemen, let it be a good one. For America!” he yelled, nodding his head briefly.

     The aura of death intoxicated the men, their breaths painfully caught in their throats as their minds wandered to their beloved mothers and sisters and wives and children. A man no older than his teen years reached into the collar of his uniform and produced a black shiny cross. He pressed his lips to the metal and muttered a quick prayer to God, which the young man, whom the General was once speaking to intently watching him, graciously accepted. At this point, no man pleaded for their life or tried to negotiate with the Almighty. Instead, every man embraced their fate with open arms. Death’s wings engulfed the sea and the brave warriors protectively, reassuring them that there was a promised haven for the fallen once the blood bath had come to an end. Another man behind the General began weeping gently into a moist drawing of his daughter, disregarding the fact that his rifle had fallen into the water, threatening to sink if not caught quick enough. The entire unit listened miserably to the man whisper urgent prayers to God and His holy Angels to protect his daughter.

     The young man shuddered and swallowed his guilt as Death’s firm hand pressed to his heart, black fingertips drumming steadily against his erratic beating organ. He glanced to the sky with a quivering lip and mouthed, “Please have mercy” as sobs tore his body in half, maiming him worse than any injuries he was prone to sustain.

      A ferocious cry was heard from the foreign land and the young man froze, orbs wide with fright. The remainder of his tears pooled down his cheeks, drying at his exposed throat. His heart stuttered and threatened to rip apart in terror.

     Suddenly, men were diving into the ocean and the young man could hardly muster a sound before the screams and sickening gunshots fatally permeated the quiet air.