The Screaming on the Beach

The Screaming on the Beach
Less than 20 feet away from me, a bomb exploded. Blood spattered, and bits of acrid smelling skin sailed passed my ear. Behind me, a group of American soldiers charged forward, their machine guns aimed towards the sand dunes. I looked down at my little brother Martin, who was laying curled up in the fetal position, his head pressed against my chest.
“Come on, Marty. Let's go!” I stood up and yanked him to his feet. “We gotta follow the other guys!”
Martin didn't move. He stood still, his eyes staring blankly off into the distance. His lower lip quivered. My heart went out to him, but we had to keep moving.
I grabbed him by the arm. “Come on!” I yelled as I ran in the direction of the others. Martin started running. His arms were pinned to his sides, and he took big, uneven steps, and moved his legs wildly. His gaze was still fixed blankly ahead. I more or less dragged him as we ran forward.
The others were huddled behind a bullet smashed tank, firing their guns toward the enemy. Dragging Martin, I ran to join them. I sat, and pushed Martin's head down as I aimed my gun over the tank. I fired ten shots in rapid succession, then looked down at Martin. He had his fingers in his ears and was rocking himself slowly. He needed a doctor, but there was no way to get him to one now. I slapped a hand on his back.
“It'll be over soon!” I yelled against the roar of battle.
For almost three hours more, we waged battle against the Nazis. Our spot was optimal. We had a clear viewpoint of the enemy and were able to open fire on them while staying relatively safe. We really should have moved to a different location after all the Germans directly in front of us were dead, but we were too terrified. We stayed cramped...

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...were supposed to be were two blood soaked craters. Part of his bone was visible. Next to me, Martin was screaming. His eyes were wide, and his body was shaking.
I was terrified.“Martin, what's the matter?”
He didn't say anything. He just kept screaming.
“Come on, Marty. Let's go back to camp,” I grabbed his arm. “Come on, it's OK. Let's tell everyone you just killed a Nazi all on your own.”
Martin's screaming intensified. His entire body rocked violently back and forth. Some of the others were coming to see what the commotion was. I looked desperately at my brother.
“Please stop screaming. It's OK, let's just go back to camp.”
Martin didn't stop. On the verge of panic, I grabbed Martin by the arm and pulled him forward. Martin jerked his arm away. His face streaked with tears and snot, Martin looked at me and wailed,
“I killlled him, Tommy! I killlled him!”