Voynich Shift - Season One (COMPLETED)

Leonis, 1:1, 2:14 - Roach Hotel - They'll Drop Dead On Contact

The smell of saltwater and vomit permeated the air. Spray from another wave crashing into and over the side of the Higgins boat drenched the soldiers' already soaked fatigues. Several of the sullen-faced men packed into the floating metal box appeared to be barely holding on to consciousness, much less anything they had eaten earlier.

The rocking of the LCVP (landing craft, vehicle, personnel) and the scent was almost too much for even the relatively strong constitution of one First Sergeant Reginald Gilbreth, United States Army. He took a slow deep breath and gripped the wood stock of his trusty M1903A3 Springfield rifle with both sweaty hands. The NCO (non-commissioned officer) swore he would die with the weapon in his hand...and today might just be that day.

Reginald glanced back at the youthful, frightened faces under his command. He began to open his mouth, but chose to keep it shut. There would be no point in smiling or telling these boys that everything would be all right. The ever-nearing explosions and hundreds of pings tapping the front of the armored boat were not pebbles tossed by welcoming, happy Germans. He knew none of his fellow travelling companions would be convinced otherwise.

The sergeant understood when the front of the boat dropped there would be nothing between him, his troops, and the Nazi weapons. Therefore, he stood next to the ramp...not as a martyr, but as a leader, ready to race across the sandy French shoreline with them. A stalwart brave face that might be the last familiar thing these young men ever saw as they charged forward into history. 

"Sarge, you want one?" inquired a young private offering the NCO a soggy Lucky Strike cigarette with a shaky hand.

"No thanks, Private, erm...Raymond, right?"

"Right, sarge. f-f-from New Orleans, sir. Where this boat was b-b-built."

"Private Raymond from New Orleans. Thanks, but I tell you what, I'll take that smoke from you when this is all over. Deal?" The sergeant said with a slight, manufactured grin. Reggie lifted his head and tilted his helmet back. He could hear the sounds of the onslaught that awaited them even clearer now; it would be time to go soon.

"It's a deal, then...hey, um, sarge?"

"Yes, private?" Reggie replied returning his attention to the young soldier.

"Tell me straight, do you think we're gonna die?"

The reply never came. Everyone in the Higgins boat unexpectedly lurched forward toward the front as the bottom of the craft made contact with a sandbar some distance from shore.

As the platform splashed into the water, a handful of young soldiers standing next to Gilbreth immediately fell as German bullets pierced their bodies and helmets. "Out of this damn boat!" Reginald barked and began urging the frightened men from the metal coffin.

Heavily equipped soldiers poured over the sides of the craft only to find themselves neck deep in turbulent water. Others ran headlong past their First Sergeant and died as they splashed into the red-stained English Channel.

All around, columns of sand and water blew skyward in reaction to exploding artillery shells raining down around the Allied invasion force. Planes flew overhead, machine guns sputtering, ripping up the soldiers racing across the once peaceful beaches of Normandy, France. It was now figuratively and literally the shores of Hades itself. A scene of pure carnage. Hell on Earth.

"Dammit!" Gilbreth suddenly took a bullet to the shoulder. There was an expulsion of red mist and he wrenched backwards. A pair of hands caught him as he fell. "Run, private! What are you doing!?!! Get your ass to the beach!"

The private ducked as several bullets whizzed past his helmet and dinged against the hull of the boat. He threw Gilbreth's arm over his shoulder. "No way sarge! I owe you a smoke!"