The two explosive devices dropped from his hand, his eyes locked with that of a small child, her large bat eyes filled with tears, Angel wanted to jump down and save her, to bring her away from this, but just like that, she was ripped away. Pulled away from the trap down and slammed shut, two loud explosions come from under them. Husk throwing open the door and kneeling down, dumping a magazine into the bodies before he looked at Angel, his face distorting, turning into black fire, the walls of the bell town being ripped away, all around him, a sky of never ending red fire and black smoke, Husker towering over him, then pointing his rifle right at Angel, "Pathetic." And everything went black.

Jumped up, panting, covered in sweat, Angel looked around frantically, the pig that was laying in the crock of his arm sent flying across the bed, squealing. Angel's chest heaved as he sat there, his bottom set of arms gripping the sheet and his top set running through his hair. He pulled his knees to his chest and cried, he stayed as quiet as he could whilst he did it, tears running down his furry cheeks. Angel looked over to his left, seeing Nugs looking up at him, his little head turned to the side. Angel lowered his top set of hands and turned to him, then picked up the pig and held it to his chest, "I'm sorry boy, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Angel swung his legs over the edge of the bed and say Nugs down, putting his head into his hands for a moment, attempting to compose himself before standing, going to the vanity mirror that was sitting on his desk, makeup and other accessories and fake jewels scattered all over the place. He sighed as he sat down in the deck chair, crossing his legs and closing his eyes, he sighed, looking into the dark reflection, his blacked out red eye illuminated in the darkness, staring back at him. His mind going back to that night he and his brother had been killed. Laying in a pool of his own blood, his legs broken, his eye smashed in, he remembered the enforcer grabbing him by the hair shoving the bag of pills and powder down his throat, he remembered the burning sensation, the relief, then the pain, the unbridled pain. He felt the veins in his arms expand and almost explode, he felt the blood start rushing to his head then pour out of his nose, he felt his ears rupture and bleed, he could feel his brain spasming in his skull and his heart almost exploding. As he lay there in the pool under the pink lights of the underground club, he watched as Arackniss had a knife, pushed to the back of his throat, attempting to cut up his vocal cords. He remembered as his screams turned to gargled cries and then to something you'd hear like nails on a chalkboard as he screamed in agony before finally having his skull caved in by a crowbar.

Angel turned away from the mirror, staring at the ground. He remembered what he'd done during the war, the killing, the final look someone would give as you drove a knife through their ribcage and into their heart, the look of a mother holding her child in her arms, the look of a soldier charging at you with nothing left to lose, the screams of men injured by chemical weapons, bullets and shrapnel. He remembered the bitter cold, the blistering heat, the taste of the cordite that would linger in the air after a battle, the smell of bodies left baking under the sun, the smell of tank wrecks, the sight of charred corpses, all of it stuck with him but never affected him. He'd committed acts like this before but they were the enemy, they were the bad guys, so why was he feeling like this now.

Angel reached over to the desk and grabbed the packet of cigarettes sitting there, opening the packet he took out the lighter inside and one of the cancer sticks, sitting it on his lips before flicking the spark wheel, a small flame emerging. He held it there for a few seconds, sucking in the smoke and blowing it, making sure it was lit before sitting it aside, the grey smoke rising to the ceiling but never quite making it. Outside, there was no snow, a storm had started, one of lightning and hail. With each thunderous roar, his mind would flash images of 155mm Artillery guns firing, then flashes of the impact, soldiers being sent in all directions.

He took in a long drag then slung his arm over the back of the chair, blowing the smoke out slowly, his mind going numb. He could feel the cold wrap around him, the winter storm, the roar of engines and as suddenly as it came, he was there.

"Corporal Anthony~" He heard a voice wake him, a hand pushing him awake, startling him, "Wake the fuck up you Dago, the Lieutenant wants to see you." Anthony stirred slightly, grumbled as he sat forward, his helmet falling slightly before he caught it, adjusting it. He looked around, American soldiers in winter jackets all standing watch. He turned and grabbed the M1 that was propped up next to him and stood up, stretching. He turned and started his trek down the trench line, stepping over loose ammo cans and broken boards. He stopped and looked up, a formation of Lancaster bombers flying overhead. He looked down and continued to walk, taking a right at a T junction and moving behind the front line and towards the officers dug out.

Moving the cloth tarp aside and stepping into the dugout, he was met with a few grimacing looks, "Glad you could join us Corporal." Lieutenant Mekus said with a bit of sarcasm to his voice. Anthony saluted before stepping forward, slinging his M1 over his shoulder and stopped at an edge of the table, looking over a map. "Right. Now that we're all here." The Lieutenant started, then pointed to the large blue line on the map, "We've been receiving attacks on hill 72 as of last week, the boys back at headquarters say we might be attacked starting today. There's been a large swarm of Italian and German troops gathering on the ridge, you can thank the RAF for getting these pictures." Lieutenant Mekus handed out the photos, the group passing them around.

"I want your platoons, squads and sections prepared and on full alert. The boys over on Hill 72 told us that they opened with an artillery barrage before the assault but who knows, they might have changed their tactics. Dismissed." Anthony saluted and waited for the rest to leave, moving out last and standing in the middle of the walk way, sighing, "God fucking damn it." He stepped forward, his boots crunching in the snow, making his way back to where he was sleeping. "Right boys." He announced, a few heads turning back, "The fuckin' krauts and my cusions have decided' we're gonna' be their next target. I wantchu' boys on full alert, 'cha understand me?" A resounding nod came from the squad. "Hey Ant." A soldier stepped off the line, a Private by the name of Palegio, "I gotchu' that huh… Thing." Anthony nodded, patting him on the shoulder, "Good, get it inta' my billet, I'll sort it out when we get time." He gave a smirk, letting the soldier return to his post.

"Hey Corporal?" Anthony turned his head, narrowing his eyebrows, "Yeah what?" The soldier looked back, "Those ain't our planes are they?" Anthony walked over, looking to where the soldier was pointing before his eyes went wide, seeing flashes from the wings, "Everyone get down!" The line dropped as machine gun and cannon fire riddled the front and rear, a few soldiers who clearly weren't listening having their heads taken off, one being hit in the chest by a cannon round, exploding from the bottom of his ribcage up. The planes flew overhead, another wave following up, firing rockets and firing cannons this time, the explosions shaking the ground, the rockets barely having an effect due to how frozen the ground was. Soon, the drone of bombers started coming overhead, without even needing to say anything the squad and most of the line had retreated into the bomb shelters that had been dug just behind the line. The whistles getting louder before the deafening explosions came, sounds like drums they were relentless until after a solid minute they stopped, then, the ring of a whistle.

Anthony and his squad bolted from their positions and back onto the line, shouldering his M1, he lined up with his sights, waiting for the first sight of movement. As it came, he watched as a young German soldier cleared the ridge line, a bayonet fixed on his rifle, his face filled with hate. Anthony didn't hesitate to squeeze that trigger, the .30 caliber round hitting into his shoulder, the bullet hitting the soldier dead between the eyes before he dropped.

Angel stared at a point in the ground as if he were trying to burn a hole into it. Finally blinking, he felt his eyes burn, then bringing his hands up to rub them, jumped in pain as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, it having burnt down to the filter. He rubbed his fingers and sighed, going to the window and opening it up, letting the noise fill his room. The hail had disappeared by now and was replaced with rain, the smell of the water washing away the dust and grime filled his nose, making him shiver, the smell reminding him so much of home when he was alive. He smiled as he turned around, looking back at Nugs before going to the bed, climbing back onto it and into the position he was in before, the pig coming and curling up against his stomach.

He laid there for some time before he drifted reluctantly back to sleep, the ever fear of that dream, of those memories coming back, keeping him awake until he finally drifted off with the pitter patter of the rain against the metal fire escape lulling him asleep.