At 8:40 a.m., at the sound of a horn, the coxswains opened their throttles and started their long run into the beach. The boats bucked and reared through the swells, so that from the point of view of those watching from the rails of the transports, they seemed to disappear entirely into the sea before rising to become visible again. It was a rough ride. Men struggled against seasickness, their tailbones bumping uncomfortably on the wooden benches, their dungarees soaked and their eyes stinging from the cold salt spray. Passing the cannonading warships, they felt the blast concussions radiating
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