Sea bunker at Capbreton

Capbreton. Photo courtesy of Makunin, @ Pixabay

The anti-aircraft guns had been pounding the skies relentlessly from the bunker set into the cliff face, its maw jutting upwards so that the cannons could swat down the enemy like flies; the sea bunkers housed yet more artillery facing out across the water as a defence against incoming enemy ships, although that was scant comfort to those stationed in the battery that night.

Their enemy wasn’t a fleet of ships.

They fired all they had, shells and bullets exploded into song like so many cracks of thunder as they raced towards their targets, weaving a fire-storm which threatened to rip their enemies apart in mid-air, yet the enemy was swift and manoeuvred in ways that no soldier could anticipate, evading the deadly projectiles with inhuman ease.

Finally, the last of the shells had been used up; the soldiers had no choice but to rely upon what remained of their rifle ammunition, then finally, their handguns.

Before long their weapons clicked uselessly as their eyes widened, grimaces becoming involuntary screams as the enemy bore down upon them without hesitation, rending them asunder and reducing their remains to ash.

At dawn, the fortifications were naught but smouldering ruin.


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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