The gentle lapping sound of leaf over leaf filled the September air in the outskirts of Oosterbeek. The sun flickered and broke through the gaps in the trees, spreading the light across the pallet of the grass, making new and dazzling forms of green appear from the murk of each blade. The beaten paths lead back and forth from the nearby cities and towns, like branches echoing from the trees that lined the way. These trees outlined the fields and open grassland of Holland, this was the perfect time of year to visit such a glorious place. Yet it was not the perfect year. Five years previously, a maniacal tyrant issued the command to spread his insidious regime across the face of Europe, coating the continent in a layer of cancer. Now was the time to stand against the tyrant and his machines of evil, it was war.

It was the 17th of September 1944. Soldiers marched and tramped their way through the relaxing heat of the autumn climate, it was much better than the drear back home that greeted them every morning with undying persistence. These were the proud members of the 1st Battalion of the British 1st airborne. They had to march through the picturesque and blissful sights of Holland to reach their destination: Arnhem. This was Operation Market Garden.

Earnings dragged his feet behind him; he was upset. He had been doing so well with the squad of Americans in France, they had liberated many towns, freed many peoples, done so much for the French. And now he was reduced to the solemn boredom of traipsing through Holland on a risky mission that could have easily been avoided.

He trailed after Captain Clements, the commander in charge of Earnings' squad. He was a dignified person with a full head of golden blonde hair. It shimmered like woven strands of sunlight, yet retained a quality often found with grime and dirt that shook the other soldiers off the idea of Clements immaculate hair. He looked back to the squads that followed him, "Haway lads!" he exclaimed, "You see those buildings up ahead? That's Oosterbeek, we're nearly there!" a dull cheer shimmied through the men; they weren't impressed. Clements took no notice of the men's lack of appreciation and kept his way toward the city that stood before them.

Earnings rolled his thumb around the bolt-action of his Lee Enfield rifle; it had been months since he had had to use one of these; could he still remember? A burning question began to echo and bubble inside his head, "Why haven't we seen any Germans on this stretch of road?" he muttered to himself. One of the soldiers next to him leaned in and whispered to him, "'Cos all the Gerries are big girls blouses, they don't have the balls to meet the lads of the 1st Airborne" he grabbed his crotch and made provocative gestures. His mate nudged him with the butt of his rifle and hissed, "Shut up you daft bastard, they Krauts could be anywhere. Stay on guard." Both soldiers dropped back into formation and continued the march.

Clements was perplexed; according to the allied plans of the area, there should be German squads patrolling this stretch of road. There had to be some manner of German presence near here. He pulled out his annotated map of the area; on it in his own scrawled handwriting were the exact number of German squads and information regarding the mission. This was baffling.

A shrill cry from behind pulled him back from his deep thought, "Panzers! Inbound! Everybody scarper!" All the soldiers began sprinting for their lives, the grumbling murmur of tanks emerging from the pleasant grassland they had so easily overlooked. Trundling from behind the battalion was a division of tanks, hulking grey demons that brought death with each stride. The heavy machineguns opened up the road with beating force, catching unfortunate soldiers in the path of their bullets. Clements galloped ahead of the dying men calling to them, "Get into the town, build a defensive perimeter!"

The men skidded into the entrance of the town and scattered like bugs into the safety of the darkened corners. The majority hid the large manor-esque building, Captain Clements and Sergeant Earnings included. The men hid in the back of the house, in the kitchen. The walls were painted a scum brown that somehow resembled the state of the food that was left simmering in the cooker. Clements scratched his head, "Fucking tanks, why weren't we informed about them?" none of the other soldiers responded. Clements turned to Lieutenant Broderick, "What do we have in the way of anti-tank weapons?" Broderick too scratched his head and toyed with the catch of his gun, "Well sir, we lost most of the PIAT's when those tanks came at us, so I guess all we have left are the Gammon bombs." Clements wasn't happy. Gammon bombs were very rudimentary grenades that could easily blast holes through the thickest of armour. The problems came with the distance you had to throw them at in order to get a good hit against a tank. It was too risky.

As Clements thought, the tanks ploughed straight into the border of Oosterbeek and began searching for the hiding soldiers. Then, without warning, one tank emptied a shell into the manor building, completely puncturing its structure and bringing down the front of the building. The men inside the kitchen had no clue what was going on, masonry fell down and broke through the walls, hitting a few unlucky soldiers. The rest shrunk back to the end of the room.

Earnings looked upon the face of his worried captain, they needed a miracle. Then it came to him, "Sir," he yelled to beat the sound of the falling building, "we could use a gammon bomb on one of the tanks tracks, rush it, then use the turret to take out the rest." Clements knew it was a major risk, but it had to be done. He signalled to two other soldiers, "Broderick, Smith, keep your lugs on the wireless in case we get a message from one of the other battalions. Earnings, Baker, you're with me. Let's show these German bastards who's in charge."

The three men crept out what remained of the manor building from the back. The garden was lush with vegetation, all swimming in the sunlight, while the hedges sighed and ruffled themselves in the shade. A thick cloud of dust had collected around the garden and was smothering the flowers. Clements peeked around the corner to the tank as it swirled its turret searching for enemies to obliterate. He indicated to Baker who held the gammon bomb to make his advance. Baker slid down the side of the building and activated the grenade. Keeping a firm hold on the wall with one hand, he threw the grenade at the tanks tracks and shielded his face.

The bomb addressed the hit with a screech of tearing metal and the left-hand tracks of the tank collapsing limply to its side. Clements cried to Baker and Earnings, "Rush the tank! Rush the fucker!" both men readied their weapons and jumped onto the side of the tank. Earnings clambered onto the roof of the vehicle and yanked back the hatch covering the tanks entrance. Baker let several round from his Sten loose into the beast, while Clements hurled a grenade inside. All three men hopped off the tank just as the grenade went off, spraying blood and offal out the holes in the tanks side.

Clements looked pleased by their actions, "Now lets get this turret sorted out. Henrys, Doncaster, get out here and into this tank!" the two men appeared from different houses in the street and pulled themselves onto the tank. Earnings yelped to them, "Stop! Get away!" as the second tank nosed around the corner. Its machineguns blared once more and cleaved gaping holes into both Privates Henrys and Doncaster. Clements, Earnings and Baker ran back behind the manor, just as the tank opened fire with its cannon. The empty tank blew itself wide open, sending a cascade of fiery oil into the atmosphere.

Earnings pulled back his breath as the three men stood aghast at the back of the house. Clements slammed his weapon against the house wall, "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, "These Germans are possessed. They're going to fight us till their last breath, the crazy bastards." He mopped his brow and called into the house, "Broderick, Smith, any news from the other battalions?" Broderick's voice shouted back, "2nd battalion is held up near the bridge, I suggest we go assist. They don't have much hope of lasting long." Clements huffed, "Neither do we from the looks of things, Broderick"

From the near distance came the crackling and hissing of small-arms fire. Baker looked tense, "Captain, I hear weapons fire. I think they've brought infantry." Clements walked back to the tank wreck and heard the buzzing of rifle fire from the houses in the street. "Fucking hell, we need to get out of here," he began panicking, "Er….right…um…alright lads. Let's move." He ordered all the men to come out the back of the house and get in a ready position. Earnings saw the frightened looks on all their faces; this was utter suicide.

Clements looked around the tank wreck to the other houses, "MEN! FALL BACK! FOLLOW ME!" the weapon fire slowly stopped and left only the German guns ripping bullets into the street. All the soldiers were now in the street watching Captain Clements, everyone could see his shock and terror as sweat scraped down his face. "What is it Captain?" one soldier asked, "We're still under attack, we need to act fast!" Clements gave a sigh of defeat, "We're pulling back to the 2nd battalion, get ready to make haste." Groans of disbelief sprung up through the men, yet there was no time to argue, the Germans were getting more accurate with their shots. Bullets pinged off the floor next to the men.

Clements began a light pace and the others followed; yet their jog was twisted into a confused sprint as a tank shell tore into the buildings to their left sprinkling them with chunks of building and shards of brickwork. "RUN FOR IT!" hollered Earnings, and they galloped off down the road. Bullets zipped and cut the air around the retreating men, several stumbling from a stray shot and dying right there in the street. The fluttering soldiers were intent to make it out the city alive, despite the odds.

Baker collapsed to the floor and was run over by the other men; he had been shot in the leg and was bleeding profusely, blood collecting around his fallen body. Earnings saw his friend fall and ran back through the stampeding soldiers. He picked up Baker from the floor and looked at his wound, "Jesus, Baker, why am I always coming back to rescue your arse?" Baker smirked, "'Cos you're so good at it." Earnings had met Baker a few times before in the past and had gradually gotten to know him. He was one of Earnings' long-lost friends from his first battalion in Normandy, Earnings was thankful to have a friendly face in his new battalion. The bullets came in heavy force now, slicing by Earnings. No one even noticed he was gone.

Earnings took one look back to the disappearing men and gave a terminal sigh; he had made his last mistake. Baker looked hopefully at his friend, who in turn was in utter depression. "Sorry mate," whimpered Earnings who drew his pistol, "I can't let you suffer at the hands of these fuckers" Baker's face was a picture of betrayal, yet he knew it was for the best intentions, Earnings put the gun to his friends face and pulled the trigger. The bullet blew in Baker's face in a torrent of bone, blood and brains. Some of it lapped up onto Earnings' front and face, his tears stained red from his friends blood. He was alone in the road, a solitary figure against an amassing German division. Earnings loaded his rifle and darted to the roadside for cover, if he was going to die, it would be in a blaze of fire, in dignity, as a hero. He noticed a building by the roadside that gave definite cover from the oncoming Germans. As he ran, two Germans with machineguns had gotten him into range and opened fire. The bullets spat into his side and Earnings fell into a crumpled heap by the door he was headed for. He pulled himself upright and began sliding away into the house; he could just reach the wooden door of the building. He hauled his broken body ever closer to the doorway; fingers gripping the edge of the splintery wooden door, he was almost there. The two Germans kept up their bursts of fire and made their advance. Their bursts of bullets ensnared Earnings; he was riddled with machinegun fire, each one beating a bloody ditch into his flesh. The firing stopped; Earnings let out a helpless whine, and was silent, mere inches from the doorway.