Author's Note: I'm going back and editing this story because of some feedback that I need to bring a bit more notice to Jesse in the next few chapter. This one hasn't been changed much, so I'll at least get the next one up tonight as well. I am looking for a Beta Reader for one or more of my stories, so if you are interested, please contact me. This will probably be a romance, but it is NOT slash. I have 2 questions before I let you read it, 1. Should I kill Caparzo and save Wade, or vice versa? (I am definitely saving Jackson, he's my favorite character, and I don't want them all to live, but I'm having trouble deciding who the survivor should be) and 2. Should the romance be with Jackson or with Reiben? Thanks for reading this extremely long note, and I'll let you get on with the story now!
Disclaimer: I do not own Saving Private Ryan or any characters other than my OC
Private Jesse Henderson gazed out upon the long sandy stretch of Omaha Beach. From his vantage point on the slope above the sand, the young private could see transports unloading more supplies, and even more men. Watching the hectic, yet strangely tranquil action, men laughing as they unloaded crates, relieved looks on some faces as their flipping stomachs finally reached dry land, and officers sitting down to eat a sandwich or two, it made his insides squirm.
Not three days ago those very waves that now crashed with a gentle roar onto the wet sand had been dyed red with the blood of the Marines who did not even make it onto the beach.
Henderson had been part of the first wave of Marines to land at Normandy. Some on the ships had called him lucky, he and the others of his company would get to see the action, would be the heroes.
There was nothing heroic about it. A sixth of his company was dead before they could even get out of the landing craft. Cries shattered the air and blood splattered the faces of those in the back as men were mowed down by German machineguns.
Henderson and what was left of the company either leapt or were pushed over the sides of the boat, some getting shot in the water, some drowning when they couldn't relieve themselves of their heavy gear, and some both. Henderson himself had nearly lost his life to the cruel, cold waters of Normandy, luckily a fellow private had hauled him out of the water, unluckily said private had been shot minutes after, and Henderson was once again on his own as he struggled up the bloody beach for some sort of cover.
It had been Hell, plain and simple. Men were moaning and crying for their mothers as they lay writhing on the sand, some missing limbs, others spilling their innards out of their abdomens, the blood flowing in streams to the water, adding more red to the already scarlet sea.
It was utter chaos. Nobody was with their company, and nobody cared. It was whoever was left alive working together to kill the Germans and open the door for the rest of the companies, safely aboard ships far out to sea.
The run up the beach was a disorienting gauntlet of dodging bullets and explosions, and trying to drown out the screams of dying men. Henderson eventually made it to the make-shift wall of sand underneath the German bunker, throwing himself down beside some of the other men.
A man with Captain markings on his helmet was yelling at a communications man while the rest of the men pressed themselves as deeply as they could into the sand for protection. The attempt to contact Command was given up after the radio was destroyed in the same blast that blew the face off of the man trying to use it. The Captain, who a Sergeant was referring to as Captain Miller, was trying to get a count of his men, but with all the chaos it was impossible.
The Captain called for ammunition and a Bangalore was brought to them. They were still going to try to take Dog 1, even without most of their men. While they were attempting to set up the Bangalore, a man beside Henderson had his helmet nicked by a stray bullet. He took his helmet off, and was immediately shot in the forehead.
'Idiot' Henderson thought as he moved the body aside so that he could be of more use.
The call, "Fire in the Hole!" was given and Henderson, as well as the rest of the men ducked and covered themselves from the explosion.
The Bangalore gave them the chance they had been waiting for. At the sergeant's command the men rushed over the sand to the base of the cliff that the bunker was on.
A sudden spray of machinegun fire caused the small group to throw themselves against the concrete wall, Henderson wedged tightly between two others.
The Captain improvised a viewing tool so he could see the opposition without getting his head blown off.
Men were sent out in pairs to try to shoot down the Germans. It was about this time that the Captain finally noticed Henderson.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Private Henderson, Eagle Company, Sir!"
"All right private, what's your position?"
"Scout and sharpshooter, Sir!"
The captain had no time to respond as another blast of fire came from the Germans. The men he was sending out kept getting mowed down. They were getting nowhere.
"Jackson, and you too Henderson."
"Yes sir."
"You see that impact crater?"
"Yes sir."
"It should give you complete cover from that machine gun position, get in there and get me some fire, wait for my command!"
Henderson and Jackson stood and prepared to run to the crater Captain Miller had pointed out to them. From the corner of his eye, Henderson watched as Jackson pulled out a crucifix, kissed it, and then stuffed it back down his shirt.
Captain Miller ran to stand behind the men who were giving the covering fire.
"Go!" he shouted as he took aim.
Henderson and Jackson darted out from behind the wall, running towards the crater. Bullets were hitting the ground all around the two men, throwing up dirt, which gave them enough cover to reach the crater. Henderson immediately aimed his sniper towards one of the nests while Jackson prepared to take out the other. Over the sound of shooting, Henderson could barely make out Jackson's voice as he mumbled a prayer, the Lord's Prayer by the sound of it and peered down his scope. A squeeze of the trigger and a German was dead. Henderson carefully lined up his rifle and the head of another German soldier, another shot, and another German down. Now Jackson turned his sights on the sandbag bunker at the top of the hill, shooting again and destroying it while Henderson picked off the remaining Nazi.
Jackson and Henderson quickly rejoined the squad of men as they rushed up the slope to the main bunker shooting Germans and taking cover in trenches while shots and explosions rang out.
Long minutes later and the Germans were either dead or surrendered. They had achieved a victory, but at a terrible price.
Henderson remembered, after the shooting stopped, looking over the beach, from the same spot he was in today, and seeing the red water, the bodies strewn over the long beach, some submerged in the water, and the screams of the wounded as the Medics tried to get to them. It was a sight that would be imprinted into his memory for the rest of his life, however short that would be.
The men who had arrived later had praised the survivors as the heroes of Normandy, but that wasn't true. The real heroes were the men who had died taking the beach.
TBC