Landing At Gallipoli
Jordan Truong, Grade 7
Around 4:30 AM, Anzac Cove, Sunday, 25 April 1915:
Adrenaline -filled soldiers exited the boat to the sound of loud screams. Rapid gunfire sprayed the air around me. Run. I saw everyone fall down all around me. Run. I lifted my mud-soaked boots over and over again. I wasn’t prepared for this. What was once mud, became a river of blood.
Death eerily whispered to me, “Give up. Give up. You can’t make it. You are already condemned. Die.”
I had to win. I had to win for my wife, Lucy. There were only a few ANZACS left, ready to fight. We shot what we could. But we could not win.
The rest of the battalion, sprinted to the cliffs, underneath the enemy, for cover. I smelt the smell of death. I saw one soldier with his mortally wounded friend.
“No, John, no!,”the poor man exclaimed.
The wounded soldier could not talk. He was too wounded to talk. Blood dripped slowly from his face. He looked up at his friend’s eyes. He tried to smile. The captain rushed to the scene and inspected him. The rest of the soldiers, proceeded to climb around the cliff.
“There’s no use trying to save him. He will see the light soon,” the captain told them solemnly
Then his friend patted the wounded soldier, stood up, turned to look back, then followed the battalion, slowly crying. It was the most touching thing I have ever seen.
We were now in front of the enemy troops. We shot angrily. They killed our comrades. They deserved the same.
I screamed out “ANZACS!” as I charged into battle.
The loud bangs of gunfire, and the whistles of mortars filled the air. I took down a few enemies, before being shot. I screamed out in pain. There was a fiery sting, then the flooding of even more red, burning pain. I felt like my life was being drained away slowly. I shuddered. The mud and dust was cold, because blood soaked into it.
Suddenly, a loud whistle erupted from above. I looked up slowly.
One young soldier yelled out ,“Mortar!”
There was a loud ringing sound echoing in my brain. Muffled sounds of yelling, screaming and explosions were heard. Everything was slowing down. Darkness was slowly overtaking me. I slowly fell to my knees. Everything was numb. The picture of my wife fell onto the floor. I slowly reached for it. I wish I could go back. All of my memories flashed in front of my eyes. “Goodbye” I thought, before darkness took me down. Death laughed at me one more time…
I opened my sticky eyelids. Was I alive? Pain hit me, to remind me. I was alive. I was healed physically, but scarred mentally. Later that month, I returned home. Many sacrifices were made. We will never forget. This was my story.
Even though their remains have already returned to dust, their legacy still remains. Lest we Forget.