War


Mrs. Powell
English 6th period
Sept. 7, 2005

War

“Run,” I yelled.”Run!” “Open fire,” Someone from across enemy lines shouted. Bullets streaked past. The soldier next to me was hit. “Ahhhhhh,” he screamed as he fell face first into the mud. I stopped and tried to help him, but I realized it was more than I could handle alone. “Medic,” I shouted. “Medic.” When the medic rushed to us, he said it was too late. My buddy had already died from shock. Machine gun nests were pelting us with bullets from every direction for hours. Our troop was cut off from the rest of our platoon and was penned down in a shallow ditch.
I crawled to our radio man and informed him of our situation. He called for more soldiers and soon the bay was filled with landing craft bringing 5,000 fresh troops. The communications man radioed the destroyers to commence shelling the beach, but something had gone wrong; our destroyers had been destroyed. The enemy ships had started shelling us.

My name is Joe Holt. That is what I remember from twenty-five years ago when I was fighting in the Battle of Burkin. The next thing I remember I awoke to the smell of disinfectant and the sight of a smiling nurse. I spent weeks in the hospital and when I was discharged my nurse became my wife.
Our son, James Holt, is now fighting in a war. We can only hope that he will be as lucky as I was; I only lost a leg, but the memories will stay with me forever.