"We are gathered here to honor a dear friend, father, brother, son, and soldier. He has done much for this country, and for those who loved him. I ask you now to join me in prayer, that his soul may reach heaven in peace."

Eddie crossed himself, tightened his grip on his rifle, and pulled the brim of his helmet lower over his brow. His skin was bleached blue-white with cold, and he shook with tightened nerves.

This would be in the newspapers, Charlie had said. Surely at least the newspapers at home. This one would be in the newspapers.

Eddie privately thought that it didn’t matter one way or another; come tomorrow, he could be dead anyway. But he knew one thing, at least. Charlie had his back. And he had Charlie’s. He’d promised.

He chewed his tongue and grabbed the edge of the boat to steady himself a bit. The deck was awash in vomit, and the smell of it was beginning to make his stomach turn. The boy next to him – who looked as though he were only seventeen or so – shifted quickly and heaved onto the deck. Eddie turned his head towards the Atlantic.

The boats were drawing nearer to the shore, and Eddie’s knuckles turned paper white against the rifle. He felt the slow scraping of the ship’s hull against the sand, and he braced himself for the thud of the ramps and the bite of seawater. He could already hear the shouts and explosions and smell the smoke.

God save our souls, he thought.

With set jaws and grim faces, the company dashed into the shallows, water flying in every direction. Their movements became more sluggish as they went, the wool of their uniforms bogging them hopelessly down. At last, they reached the sand. It kicked out behind them as they ran, bursting like heavy, wet fireworks. The sound of artillery fire rapped on their ears, and as the first wave ran blindly into the smoke, many quickly stopped short and crumpled to the ground.

The boy next to Eddie wiped his mouth on his sleeve and yelled as he ran forward. When he reached the shore, he grinned back at Eddie for a moment and shouted, "See you on the other side, Ed." He was one of the first to fall.

Eddie crouched down, preparing to take aim at what seemed to be invisible target. An explosion nearby made him start, and as he looked toward the noise he took in some of his macabre surroundings.

Wounded men were everywhere, most of them still half-alive, screaming for water, or aid, or loved ones. But they really weren't men anymore, they were bodies; they would go down as a casualty, nothing more. Names, faces, people were disappearing all around him, and there was nothing Eddie could do to stop it.

Amovement at the corner of his eye caught his gaze. It was Charlie. He saw Charlie fumbling with his bullets, readying his gun, and charging forward. Just as Eddie was about to follow, Charlie stopped short and, like so many others before had, fell.

Charlie screamed. Eddie screamed. Eddie felt his scream blend with Charlie's until there was no distinguishing the two; there was just a ringing sound and the pound of blood in his ears. He saw one of the combat medics rush forward to try and staunch the blood, but there seemed to be life pouring out of every inch of Charlie.

As the surgeon rushed to find a way to save Charlie, Eddie watched as his brother became weaker and went still. The sand around Charlie was stained deep red, and it was only Eddie screaming now.

"As we remember him, may we always think of him as the brave young boy he was, and as the man we knew and loved; as the man who died because he was wise enough to see that his time had come. May Edward Ryan rest in peace."