On the Reef
“Corpsman.”
The weak cry sounded all along the sharp, cutting reef. Waves, pink with blood, lapped at the dead, the almost dead, the KIAs, and the casualties. Bullets buzzed through the air. They pierced bodies, carapaces, and water alike. Cannons boomed, each bigger and closer than the last. They wove the old bones of sea creatures with the fresh flesh of men and the guts of insects, spewing the concoction into the blue sky. Flames followed.
“Corpsman.”
A grim Marine charged through the bloody surf and whining rounds to grab his buddy. He heaved up on his buddy’s rucksack, lifting him free of the water. With a glance back over his shoulder, the Marine measured the distance to the small amtrak. Could he get his buddy to it? Could he get him to help?
The Marine hauled. He hauled across the reef, and he hauled through the waves.
“Corpsman!”
“Corpsman!”
The shouts of other fallen sounded around him. The Marine gritted his teeth. He stiffened. He couldn’t save them all, but this one he could. This one. The Marine hauled and hauled and hauled.
This one. This one he could save.
Heat and blinding light flashed.
The Marine flew back into the shallow, pink water. He blinked sand and salt and light from his eyes. He shook his head, spraying droplets. The Marine climbed to his feet and hauled his buddy . . . lighter than before. The Marine dropped the headless body he once knew.
“Corpsman!”
“Corpsman!”
The wounded cried all around him. The echo of clacking mandibles reverberated across the jagged reef. The sun set, but the fighting, the dying hadn't stopped. The bugs hadn’t stopped.
Tears cut clean lines down the Marine’s face. Headless. Gone. His buddy no more.
A giant rolling ball of teeth and claws bounced through the shallows, missed by the ships lobbing bombs from the bay. Blood-laced waves splashed squirming, screaming boys. The Marine jerked his buddy’s rifle free from the body, kneeled, and steadied his elbow on his knee.
Closer. Closer. Clickity-clickity-click.
Screaming. Chaos reigned. Parts of soldiers splattered in the bug’s wake. Heads and legs-less torsos protruded from its many grasping arms feeding its many mouths.
The Marine breathed. He squinted against the water’s glare and tightened his grip on the rifle’s stock. He took careful aim at the sweet spot between the first and second shell plates. Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady. Fire.
The bug tumbled, stopped, dropped.
Clenching his fists, the Marine stood.
“Corpsman!”
“Corpsman!”
His buddy’s blood clouded the waves, turning the razor-blade reef slick. The dead bug released the parts of other boys, other buddies, dead soldiers. Bits and pieces all about. The Marine looked at the waiting amtrak, at offered safety. I could make it.
“Corpsman!” The dying pleaded.
The helpless were too many. The bugs clipped bone, muscle, and limbs. Their ectoplasm sacks sprayed the soldier-boys with melting acid. The buzz of their wings drove men mad. But, the Marine could make it off the reef. He could be sheltered from dismemberment, burning, insanity. Bombs from the ships only cared for destruction, not for distinctions between man and bug.
I can get off this helluva a reef.
The waiting amtrak whispered of walls, freshwater, and rest. Rest from the battle, the war, the clicking, and the friendly fire. Rest.
Another bomb erupted.
“Corpsman.” The screams turned to desperate whispers.
Wiping his eyes, the Marine turned away from the asylum of the transport, and the promise of sleep offered by a return to the ships in the bay. He turned away from shelter. He turned from cover.
The Marine faced the reef of broken men.
“Corpsman!”
Heaving up on a rucksack, the Marine lifted a buddy free of the water and hauled.
I wrote this bit of flash fiction ages ago. It was inspired by a scene in Robert Leckie's book Strong Men Armed. When I entered it into a writing contest I gave it less of a WW2 feel and more of a Sci-fi feel. Still one of my favorite things I've ever written.
