'Come on aboard...' the skipper said, to Tommy in his combat kit.
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The British soldier sweating, grinned, sang an Army skit.
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'Oh, why are we waiting...' went the melody; he winked his eye
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To all the Yankee matelots aboard the LCI
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Crammed all around the battered port, the ships were riding carelessly
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At anchor, filled with troops on each, hundred and eighty-three
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Liberty ships and Monitors and Ships of Mercy painted white
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With large red crosses, port and starboard, brightly lit at night
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A vast Armada, spreading far..'Old Glories' fluttered in the air--
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Crusade of Freedom,--soon to sail, but Tommy knew not where.
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Hot Afric' sun arose behind the hills around Bizarta's lake,--
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September Morn...an Arab's cry of worship...'ALLAH'S AWAKE!'
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Calm Mediterranean, blue and clear.. Ah, 'Mare Nostrum!' Sea of fame
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Thy jelly fish in purple splendour scattered as we came
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Out in thy middle, Ships from South joined ships from East and MORE from West,
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Bespecked the far horizon blotting out thy silvery crest
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Small LCIs with ramps of steel, flat-bottomed keel, sped through the spray
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Heaved up, sank down, lurched to and fro and Tommy, sick and grey
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Did try his best to keep possessed, his canvas bunk he held the more
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And spewed into his paper bag 'My bloody guts!' he swore.
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Spelling and stifling hot below--a reeking hatch--his mates, the lot
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Battle-wise heroes all bar none, ready to die as not
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Each of them pictured joys he knew, as half delirious there he slumped
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With small pack for his pillow; breathing fumes the diesels pumped
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The craft's flat bottom smacked the surf...shuddered the ship from stern to bow
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Steel hatch doors opened with a clank...the sun's rays stabbed below
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Swirling through blue-grey smoke appeared the Padre, Holy in his word,
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'Rise up and come on deck my lads and let us praise the Lord.
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'For Italy, our enemy, surrendered to us on this eve
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Thank God for lives and bloodshed saved.' Glad news hard to believe
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Relentlessly and heeding not, the swarm of ships steered to the goal
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Loud sirens shrieked and signals flashed to carry out the role.
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Red setting sun flamed up to the sky...a fiery arc placed on the sea.
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Every second nature changed the tinted scenery,
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Turing the stately 'Fredom Fleet' to ghostly moving silhouettes.
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Sharp rasped the order: 'Blackout time! Put out those cigarettes!'
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Down in his quarters' maps in hand, the Company Comander came.
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'Ha, Sergeant Major, get the men, I shall explain the game...
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The River Picentina here, the Asa River, here on right.
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Expect the beach is Jerry mined. No questions? Sleep tonight.'
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So back below the single deck, and guided by a dim blue light,
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The tommy groped towards his bunk, to rest before the fight,
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While some played solo, whispered, smoked, or scanned a bible in the gloom
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But foremost was in each man's mind--'What spells tomorrow--Doom?'
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Disturbing snores and heavy sleep, (t'would wake a dead man from his grave)
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A score of bells raised merry Hell. 'STAND TO' the signal gave
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Leapt from his bed, grabbed hastily for kit, steel helmet, 'bondook' charged
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He heard the engine go full speed...towards the beach he barged.
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Though bristling mines bobbed threateningly, cut free by sweepers' paravanes,
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Into the steel-torn flaming beaches stormed Mars's hurricane
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With Lightnings streaking through the sky, and giant warships thunderous fire
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Red hails of lead and floating flares lit up the shore's barbed wire
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Shock of the crash..beach reached, ramped down..fixed bayonets through the inferno
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Charged Tommy Atkins...Warrior...So began Salerno
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'He's gone ashore,' the Skipper said, and Tommy in his combat kit
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Was showing Jerry how to fight... FOR FREEDOM...THAT WAS IT.
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NEXT, MAJOR ALAN HAY’S MEMORIES OF CHRISTMAS 1943
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