They sit in solemn silence

All thirty-three, not more

The Hellfire, that box of brothers,

Glides silently toward shore.

The pop of antiaircraft fire

Echoes o'er the water

And Sergeant Hawkins gains his feet

And says, "Boys, we got her.

"Omaha is nearing fast,

The Krauts don't know we're here.

Tonight, you've got to do your best—

Make 'em scream for fear.

"Well now, boys, do you hear those guns?"

The men murmur with pallid lips.

Sergeant Hawkins plants his boots on Hellfire's slipp'ry deck,

And for a minute, all is silent, but then the walkie bips.

"You're coming on the beach, men,"

Commander's scratchy voice declares.

"Load your guns and lace your boots—

The Krauts are in their lairs."

Hawkins looks at Squadron 2,

Says, "Boys, this is goodbye."

He loads his Thompson .25.

"Tonight, you do or die."

Squadron 2, all thirty-three,

Crash onto the shore

Amid the death and pain and hell,

The Allies won the war.