Not that it matters, though because everyone in the class loved it, including my teacher. 
Feel free to really take it out on ol' Joe and point out every conceivable flaw the story has. 
War Story
The waves splashed up on the shore. I sat on the beach and watched the seagulls roam around in the sand and gliding overhead. I watched a seagull fly from the left and land next to a group of seagulls on a wet part of the sand. The sand was a dark tan color where the water touched. As a gentle wave rolled in, the seagulls took off once again to avoid the water. I watched the same seagull take off and soar over my head. I turned my head and saw him land next to a helmet ridden with gaping bullet holes and coated with dried blood.
It was a bitter reminder of the horror I faced earlier that same day. The invasion of Omaha Beach began early in the morning. The LCI troop transport I was on followed the first wave of smaller LCVP transports. I noticed there were no soldiers rushing out of the LCVPs onto the beach. In fact, I saw no troops storming the beach at all, although the ramps to the transports were lowered. What I did see, however, were tracers dancing all over the transports. Wherever the tracers touched, spurts of blood soon followed. The German machine guns were slaughtering all of the soldiers inside the transports before they even got the chance to exit. The LCI hit an obstacle and a huge explosion tore off the starboard ramp on the bow. That was the ramp I was supposed to use to storm the beach. I headed toward the port ramp only to see it was bathing in flames. A soldier next to me was wearing a flamethrower. His fuel tank was hit by small arms fire and went aflame. Screaming in agony, he quickly dove off the port side into the water to try and save himself.
The captain saw the hopelessness of the situation and ordered everyone off the sides of the ship. I dove off the port side with a group of soldiers. I saw the soldier with the flamethrower miraculously saved himself. He abandoned his useless flamethrower and was kicking ferociously to the beach. I soon joined him as I splashed down into the water. Incoming mortar shells were raining down on all of us. They fell shortly behind my group. I looked back and saw the carnage the shells unleashed. Where the shells landed, there were bloody shreds of flesh, bent helmets, and broken pieces of equipment.
I snapped my head back to stare at the chaos that was the beachhead as I felt bullets splash all around me. I saw soldiers rush down the ramps of newly arrived LCVPs. As soon as the ramps fell down, I felt the bullets splash all around me stop and saw a trail of them heading towards the transports. The German gunners were now zeroing in on the reinforcements. I was relieved they weren’t aiming at me, but also knew there were many more men that were about to feel what I experienced. I wasn’t making good enough progress towards the beachhead, so I got rid of my rifle, my helmet, and then the harness with the musette bag. I kept my ammunition belt. It was risky leaving my helmet, but reducing my weight was my best bet to get to the beach.
I finally reached the beach with the soldiers who dove off the port side of the LCI. They too had ditched their equipment to get there. I came up behind an LCVP with two others. I picked up a slightly bent helmet floating around. I stopped and looked around eagerly for my rifle, an M1 Carbine. If I stormed the beach with any other weapon, the ammunition on my belt would be completely useless. The other two picked up an M1A1 Thompson submachine gun and an M1 Garand rifle as well as helmets. Apparently those were the weapons they carried earlier. They both looked at me.
“What weapon do you need,” one of them asked.
“A Carbine. I don’t see any.”
“Well I ain’t going with only him! Find one, damn you,” the other shouted. I turned around and looked up the starboard side of the LCVP and saw one lying on the ground next to the ramp. I turned around and faced them.
“Look, there’s one!” I pointed to the Carbine. The first soldier quickly glanced at it, then back at me.
“Go! We’ll cover!” I nodded and dove for the rifle. They crouched behind me and started firing wildly at the German bunkers. Sand splashed all over where the bullets struck and one knocked off my helmet. I grabbed the rifle and quickly looked up at the bunkers firing down on me. Bullets raked the ground in front of me, and sand exploded into my face. I put my head down and closed my eyes.
When the stream of bullets stopped, I heard the soldier with the Garand shout proudly, “Got one!” I looked back up and saw that the muzzle flash and tracers of the machine gun had disappeared. I immediately got up and sprinted to the nearest obstacle the Germans used to block tanks. I took another helmet from a dead soldier and took a good look around the beach. There were corpses lying all over the beach. As soldiers were shot down by machine gunners, medics rushed over to help. One medic ran up to a soldier shot by a sniper. He kneeled down beside him and started going to work when all of a sudden a bullet slammed into his arm. He looked down and cursed. It must have been the same sniper. He looked back up over the sand dunes and yelled angrily.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to shoot medics, you Nazi bastards!” Another bullet pierced his heart. He slumped over, dead.
From the obstacle, I looked for the two soldiers that saved my neck. They were also crouched behind obstacles. I yelled over at them, “Let’s go!” I leaned on the obstacle, squeezed off a few rounds at a bunker, and took off. I saw a German gunner go down and another took his place. He sprayed rounds all over the beach as we ran to a sand dune with barbed wire blocking our path. We dropped down and looked around for the bangalore explosives we needed to clear a path through the wire. The gunners would chop us up if we got caught in that wire.
“Reload, if we’re sitting here,” said the Thompson soldier.
I quickly discarded the magazine, slapped a new one in, and pulled back the bolt. Due to the Garand’s lack of mid-magazine reloading, the other soldier had to have an empty magazine before he could reload. He pointed the rifle over the sand dune and fired randomly at the bunkers. The metallic ring was heard, signifying the magazine was now empty. He ejected the magazine, put in a new one, and pulled back the bolt. After scanning the beach for a minute, we spotted a soldier running from obstacle to obstacle with a bangalore.
“Go on 3! We’ll cover,” shouted the Thompson soldier. The bangalore soldier nodded and got ready to sprint to our position.
“1…2…3! Go, go, go!” All three of us stood up and leaned on the sand dune to fire at the German bunker. Tracers swept downward from the bunker getting closer to the running bangalore soldier. Apparently the gunner was still aiming for the bangalore soldier and didn’t expect us to pop up and fire at him. We hit him along with two others. That silenced the machine guns for a while.
The bangalore soldier shortly got to our dune, climbed up, placed it under the wire, and then ran away. He shouted at us, “Move! Move!” We ran after him and dropped behind obstacles once again. The bangalore exploded a few seconds after. The sand dune was now clear of the barbed wire. Immediately after it was clear to go, we ran up the dune again. After we cleared the dune, we dove down into a crater. Just before we got inside the crater, the bunker’s machine gun opened up on us and caught the soldier that set the bangalore in the arm. He fell down, wincing in pain, and we pulled him in the crater, out of the machine gun’s arc. His arm was a mess of torn flesh and bones. I yelled, “Stay here! Medic! Medic!” No medic was around, so I lit him a cigarette, patted him on the helmet, and left the crater with the other two soldiers.
We got up to another bunker. It seemed as though no one saw us leave the crater. We saw the bunker’s machinegun begin to tear up a new load of soldiers in an LCVP. This time, the soldiers would survive. One of my comrades went under the machinegun arc of the bunker and lobbed a grenade inside. The explosion threw chunks of flesh and sprays of blood out of the bunker, and a bent up helmet fell out as well. Blood and skull fragments spilled out of it. I kicked it away, disgusted. I looked down at the beach. The soldiers in the LCVP actually made their way out and hid behind the obstacles on the beach. We pushed forward.
We ran up to another bunker to the left. Our backs were facing the right side of the bunker we threw the grenade into. We went as fast as possible, praying we would reach the next bunker before reinforcements would arrive and spot us in the bunker behind us. This time, they saw us.
The gunners spit out rounds in an attempt to save the bunker we were heading towards. I made it to the bunker and dove behind its concrete walls. My two comrades smashed into the sand. Their backs became a mess of blood, flesh, and bones as the bullets pounded into them. They didn’t even get a chance to scream. I saw the spurts of blood stop and the guns fell silent. I took a risk and peered over the side of the concrete wall. The gunners hung over the machine guns, dead.
I fell back behind the wall and looked up. The bunker gunners still didn’t notice my presence. I lobbed a grenade in the bunker and dropped to the ground, face down in the sand to avoid shrapnel. The explosion was deafening.
After several more hours of combat, it was over. I sat on the sand and rested, looking at the seagulls. It was the longest day of my life.