Captain John Miller stood with his fellow comrades over the remains of, what was, the Omaha beachhead assault. The ocean washed up waves of scarlet, the beach's once golden sand was painted with blood, the only remnants of its true colour was in patches where the bodies of Europe's soldiers had been removed to be buried nearby. The wire fences held helmets, bits of bloody clothing and bodies where someone had been unfortunate to crawl through.

Miller drew a breath, and released. Involuntarily, his hand started to shake; he looked down, clenching it, forcing it to retreat to minor tremors.

"Miller!" The Captain jumped, spinning round to come face to face with Lieutenant Colonel Anderson. "I have a task that needs your immediate attention."

"Yes sir!" Miller shouted, running to the tent where the Colonel was waiting for him.

"Now, I've just received word that there is a Private of Baker company, five hundred and sixth Parachute Infantry Regiment called James Francis Ryan." The Colonel sighed. "This Private is very… special, so to speak."

"And why is that Sir?" Miller asked inquisitively.

The Colonel leaned on the desk in front of them. "Captain, do you have any brothers?"

Miller's face screwed up in confusion. "Me? No, none. I'm an only…"

"Well this Private, Captain, had three." The Colonel cut him off. He drew a breath, then walked round the table, picking up a compass, he leant on the table and tapped the compass against his chin. "Well Miller, the truth is this Private, has a golden ticket out of here, and back home."

The Captain tilted his head. "I don't understand." He muttered.

"Emphasis on had three brothers, Miller. They've all died in action. Which brings me to why I've asked you here." Anderson strode up to Miller, his face hard. "I've chosen you to be the commanding officer of the team that goes and get's the lad."

Miller's face fell. "But sir, our duties are here. To protect the country we love and serve. To fight this war. Why do we have to give that up for just some…"

"That's enough Captain." Anderson stopped him. "This is what the Secretary of Defence has ordered. I chose you because you are skilled enough to get the job done successfully. This Private has just lost his three brothers."

Miller's face softened, he felt sympathy James Ryan. After all, if he lost his family, he'd want to go home, home to his wife… "How many men do I get?"

Anderson smiled and clapped his hands together, before striding over to the corner of the pavilion, where the translators were typing furiously. "A technical sergeant and five men of your choice."

"But Colonel don't squads normally have nine soldiers?"

"Yes, they do Miller. Upham, front and centre." Anderson waited as a scrawny translator ran in front of the commanding officers.

"Yes sir?" He squeaked.

"You will be assisting Captain Miller on his new mission to bring home Private James Francis Ryan. Pack up, ready to leave in two minutes."

A look of shock swept through Upham's features. "Um… Yes… Yes sir." He sprinted around the massive tent, gathering his equipment as well as his belongings and followed the two officers out into the base.

Miller laughed at Upham falling about everywhere, he had even tried to bring a type-writer, but had dropped it when he realised it couldn't fit in his bag. Miller strode with Anderson, glancing back to chuckle at Upham. His brow fixed together. "Sir, this is the 8th soldier…"

Anderson jerked his head, quickly with one swift nod. "I said you can choose five men, but I've already chosen the last man for your mission."

They stopped in front of where the soldiers were resting. Private Richard Reiben had his back to them, describing a dirty joke to the men.

"…And so the lady was like 'really? Why don't you just check…"

"Reiben!" Anderson shouted.

Reiben jumped, spinning round to see the two officers glaring at him. He sat down, while a wave of laughs swept through the soldiers, Private Adrian Caparzo and Private Stanley Mellish elbowed Reiben.

"Now, Privates Caparzo, Mellish, Jackson, Technical Sergeant Horvath and Technician Wade, front and centre. We have a mission." Miller shouted, immediately each man strode in front of the Captain, lined up and stared at him. "Follow me." Miller said.

Miller began walking towards the front of the ammunition pavilion. He waited until they were all there, including Upham, before briefing them. He told them of their mission, and waited for a response.

Reiben was the first to speak. "So we have to stop relaxing to find some punk who could be anywhere?"

An uneasy mumbling erupted from the soldiers, talking amongst themselves, throwing their hand up in big gestures, anger stung on their faces.

"Sir, I have an opinion on this matter, this mission is a serious miss-allocation of valuable military resources, sir. God gave me a gift, I'm a valuable instrument of warfare. If you were to put me and this here rifle in a mile or two away from A-dolf Hitler sir, pack your bags gentlemen, wars over."

"That's brilliant, bumpkin." Reiben snided, sighing dramatically.

Miller held his hands up, "Look, I know you all would like to stay here. But you've got to sympathize with him. This kid's lost his family. You can stay here, and be shamed. Or, you can come with me. For one, the quicker I do this, the quicker I can go home to my wife." Miller glanced around at the soldiers. "So, what's it going to be?"

Silence filled the air as the soldiers took in the Captain's words. They looked at one another, then finally, all looked at Miller expectantly.

"So, when are we going to leave?" Caparzo asked.

"Well, we will be leaving in about half…" Miller glimpsed at his new troops, counting them using his fingers. "Hang on." He said. "We've still got one soldier missing."

Anderson piped up, walking towards them. "And here he is." A short man, with a thick helmet on, looking at the floor, walked behind Anderson. "This is your new team member, Private Sam Vincent."