The Ship at Dawn

In that one moment, everything went quiet. The pace of the world slowed, and the stiff breeze had all but dissipated. The first tendrils of deep red sunlight had begun to emerge over the horizon, snaking lazily across the sea as dawn broke.

The waves crashed gently around my feet. I tried to curl my toes in the sand, but I couldn’t. It didn’t matter, though. I was fine here, lying idly on this beautiful stretch of coastline. Nothing mattered.

Slowly, so slowly, I turned my head to look out over the ocean properly. In the distance, I could see a magnificent ship just crossing the horizon, illuminated by the rising sun. What was it for? Who was on the ship? I did not know, but something told me I should. But my brain was idle, in a haze. It didn’t want to think – so I didn’t force the thoughts.

A little sea spray splashed on my face. It was oddly warm but not wholly unpleasant. I didn’t try to wipe it from my cheeks; it didn’t seem necessary. Here, in this calm place, nothing seemed necessary anymore. I was quite alright as I was.

I let out a breath and rolled onto my side, and I was looking out over the sea once more. The sun had risen slightly more by now, and its red ribbons of light were inching closer. Soon, I would be able to feel the sunlight on my face. Oh, how I longed for that warmth.

My breaths were slow. My body was numb, and the sand supported my entire weight. I couldn’t feel my feet at all, now. I couldn’t feel my hands, either. Something nagging in the back of my brain told me that I should panic, that this should be a source of great alarm. But I didn’t. Nothing mattered, and that was fine. I was calm.

I blinked, letting my eyes return to the ship at the horizon. Why did it seem so important? It bobbed along but didn’t seem to be getting any closer. It just lingered there, illuminated in a stunning golden hue by the sun behind it.

I could feel tiredness starting to creep over me. Though my brain was in a haze, a brief thought came to me. Why was I awake at dawn, anyway? Why was I lying on a beach, instead of in bed with my wife?

My wife? Did I even have a wife?

I furrowed my brows slightly, although it was about the only movement I could manage now. Yes, I thought. I had a wife. I had not seen her in… a long time. How long had it been? I couldn’t place it. I had a son, too – a son I had never met. He would be about a month old, would he? How I wished I could meet him.

The ship in the distance made sense, suddenly. My family was on the ship. My wife and my son – they were waiting for me on the ship. Waiting for me to return to them. Oh, I so dearly wished I could return to them.

The dawn sun had reached my feet, now. I could feel the warmth on my skin, but it stung. And then it seared, hot and unbearable.

I tried to writhe, but I couldn’t move my body. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth or make a sound. I could only lie there, my vision blurring. The hot, red tendrils of dawn sunlight blotted out most of my vision, and all I could see now was that tiny section of the horizon where the ship was idly floating.

But the ship was not facing this way, anymore. The ship had turned, and it was sailing away. Within moments, it had disappeared across the horizon, my wife and son with it. Where had they gone? Why were they leaving me?

My vision went entirely red, then, and a wave of nausea rushed over me. A ringing sounded in my ears; it started as a buzz but rapidly became a shrill wail. And then my hearing returned, just for a moment.

I heard the screams and the explosions and the gunshots. The waves crashed loudly at my feet, accentuated by the boom as yet more debris landed around me. But I could not feel my feet, still – and then, I remembered why I could not feel them.

The pain was excruciating. I shuddered for breath, gasping in contaminated air that my lungs could not bear. My eyesight cleared just for a moment, and I barely recognized the commotion around me. Normandy beach, a once stunning destination, was littered with debris and bodies.

I was one of them.

I could feel my injuries again, now. I remembered the bullets that tore through my chest. And the land mine. Oh, I remembered the land mine. I had tried to avoid it, but it had been too late by the time I’d heard my fellow soldiers scream out my name in blind terror.

The blast had been catastrophic. I had been caught right by it.

Blood began to trickle down my cheeks. I felt warm spray on my skin again, too. But it was not the sea after all; it was the blood of the man lying next to me, spurting from a wound at what remained of his shoulder.

He had tried to save me. And I didn’t even know his name.

I took one final, staggering breath. It hurt to breathe, and my lungs gave in. My body went limp on the hot, bloodied sand, and my ears began ringing once again. It was a macabre relief.

My vision faded, turning black. I let my eyes fall on that spot on the horizon where I had seen the ship one last time.

But there was no ship, had never been a ship – it was just another landing craft corpse, bobbing in the rough, reddened waters. The realization now hit me.

I had been a dead man the moment I boarded the landing vessels for the D-Day invasion, and my time had come.

I would never see my wife again; she would be left a widow. I would never meet my only son; and he would never know his papa.

And I never even knew his name.