Necrocide by Jonathan Davison Read Free Book Online Page B

shoulder in the process. Hawkins reeled as the force of the impact which no matter how negligible took the wind from his lungs. He flapped about desperately as if grappling with an opponent for his very life until a strong pair of arms grasped him under his armpits and offered the support required to take three or four calming gasps of air.
    Hawkins looked around to see George Granger, his helmeted head now bare and his orange hair darkened by the oily waters. No words were exchanged; conversation led to hesitation and in this moment, to hesitate was to succumb to German fire which though indiscriminate, was heavy enough to be extremely effective. Swimming to the shore, Hawkins unhampered by his wound was yet to feel the pain from his injury and he used every sinew in his being to splice the waters before him. Not daring to look up but not bothering to dive down out of sight, he knew that he was as easily killed by a bullet several feet below the surface as he was on top. His arms powering him forward, he did not stop to think about his lost weapon which nestled into the soft sea-bed, he just wanted to feel the firm shingle beneath his feet so he could move more quickly than the painfully slow crawl that he could achieve in the water.
    With only feet to go to the beach, the froth of the waves lapping at the shore could be seen, their usual white foam now a blood tinged pink. Hawkins, gasping gulps of air from his exertions began to encounter the forlorn bulks of fallen soldiers who floated with the tide, their bodies rolling about in the wash. The Commando looked up to his destination and for the first time, took more than a few fleeting moments to survey his surroundings.
    A hundred yards of sand and fine shingle presented itself interspersed with 'hedgehogs', large pronged metallic obstacles which hindered the progress of tanks or armoured vehicles. Behind each of these, a mound of bodies, their flesh torn by a hail of deadly bullets. Hawkins immediately made for the closest of these most macabre of structures. It clearly presented the best cover from which to gather his breath before making another push up the beach. With concussive explosions all around the on-rushing soldiers, there was no time to aid the wounded and Hawkins felt with great urgency that if he did not find cover he would soon be target by the machine gun nests which although present were hard to see due to their camouflage. Only the occasional muzzle flash gave any indication of their location but there was little time to linger. Hawkins left the waters and suddenly felt very heavy legged as his waterlogged clothes added a significant burden. He stumbled a few feet to the nearest hedgehog and crashed to the ground behind a cluster of five or six bodies that bore the insignia of the 231 st . Granger dived to the ground beside Hawkins and could be seen to wriggle and writhe his way into the beach like a sand eel.
    “Jesus Christ!” Hawkins screamed over the chaotic din.
    “This isn’t light resistance!” Granger added as he pulled his Webley revolver from its holster. It would seem he too had lost his primary weapon. Hawkins, with his head low reached up over the body that shielded him from view of the beach head and snatched an unused Sten sub-machine gun from one of the fallen soldiers. There seemed little point to its use at this time. Firing indiscriminately into the distance would only lead to drawing fire and it would surely be a minor miracle if one of the bullets hit anything meaningful.
    “We've got to keep moving.” Granger called out despite Hawkins' ear only being a few centimetres away from his mouth. Clearly concussed by the hail of artillery shells, his skin was even more pale than usual. Hawkins looked back to the ocean where the smoking hulks of abandoned LCA's were drifting. The waters lapped gently at his feet but he was being clattered periodically with a body which was being pushed and pulled about by the waves. Along the beach,