The crisp air of the new day scampered along the meadows and byways of Normandy. No doubt, the farmers would have been up by then, reaping the crops and herding the cattle. The past few years had seen an end to all that. The still village of St Fredrique du Clamont was a still sleeping giant that would not move, even for the shrill cry of the morning air. The dew glistened on the grass like fallen stars of the previous night; all the while, several figures busied themselves with the laborious task of shifting those unfortunate enough to see this day.
McIntyre awoke with a shudder of panic and disorientation. He had fallen asleep, yet Williams had neglected to tell him. He was inside the bedroom where the two Germans had been only yesterday, firing round after round at what remained of his squad. He scrambled up and looked around. The walls were the colour of the corridors, a restful and patient blue, while the floor and ceiling had no need to disguise themselves with colour. They were stark wood, smoothed and shined to the utmost delicacy. The bed of the bedroom was worn, rusted and dead. It lay sprawled in the corner of the room, even to look at it weakened its structure.
Williams opened the door and spied McIntyre, who still was alarmed at his drowsiness of the day before. "It's alright sir, you wouldn't believe our luck. Turns out, some lads from the 1st airborne were passing this way. They've decided to hook up with us for a while, well, until they find their squad captain, a Captain Winslow. Looks like you're in charge for now sir." McIntyre got to his feet and pointed to Williams, "Sorry sir, didn't sleep a wink" he said, hands raised in protest. McIntyre slugged out the room and went into the courtyard, there he saw four men in full airborne uniform loitering around a large pile of corpses, mostly British. Once they saw McIntyre, they sprang to attention. Williams walked out and introduced each soldier in turn.
"This here, is Private James Finlay. He's the squads support gunner" A largely built man re-straightened himself and saluted McIntyre.
"This is Private Josef Miller. He's a basic rifleman of her majesties armed forces, and a bloody good one too." A fairly average looking man tipped his helmet and acknowledged McIntyre.
"This is Private Henry Donahue. Squad sniper" A wiry young man balanced himself on his sniper rifle and nodded to McIntyre in a friendly manner.
"And finally, this is Private Simon Johnson. Sub machine gunner, to take the place of Captain Winslow, whenever he shows up that is." The last man stood tall and affirmative, he gave a little smile to McIntyre's approach and saluted him.
The morning breeze tickled McIntyre's neck. He smiled indefinitely at the squad that stood before him. He just had to get them out of this mess.
As the day grew on, the four new recruits began the laborious task of burying the mountain of bodies. It reached midday; McIntyre sat with Williams on an embankment near the road. He perched himself next to Williams and began a conversation that could not end happily,
"Williams, how did these lads get here in the first place?"
"Funny story actually sarge, well not funny, but you get the idea…"
"Get on with it Williams"
"Sorry sir. Well, you see, after you cleared the farmhouse, and you decided you needed a breather, I bumped into them clearing out the houses. They had came in on the reverse approach looking for Captain Winslow. So I decided we could take them with us. You never know sarge…"
McIntyre stared at the sky; the verticality of the Sun showed him it was midday, the burning orb directly above them all. Williams saw how uncomfortable McIntyre was and began to re-activate the conversation,
"Also got some new orders from HQ"
McIntyre looked bemused, "How?"
"I used the German Radio, they said that we should advance along the main road to our south and clear the next few towns. There should be some men waiting around that area by that time. Although we don't need to move for a few hours yet."
McIntyre began looking grim, yet stricken with fear, "Did you check to make sure the Krauts weren't listening?" Williams face dropped, "Oh, shit"
As if coincidences were an everyday occurrence, Private Donahue called from his lofty tree vantage point, "Sirs! Gerry patrol coming in from the northbound road. Two Squads and a half-track. Scramble!" At once all the soldiers darted around the village to their designated locale and hid.
The distant rumble of the German Anti-personal vehicle grew louder, like oncoming thunder that rolls overhead in an unprecedented storm. Accompanying this were the pitter-patter of German infantry boots on dirt road. The storm brewed and dragged itself ever further to the village. McIntyre stood against the walls of one of the rural houses with Private Miller to his left. The thatched roof and wooden walls caught their uniforms and snagged them to the spot, waiting for the Germans. Then in came the lumbering beast, several fixed machineguns with 12 German soldiers marching alongside it. Its metal coat fired the suns rays into all directions, even blinding a few German Soldiers. The grinding stopped, the boots halted, and all was still. The German squads slowly began their sweep of the village, each step taken with the deadliest of cautions. McIntyre's heart was the lump in his throat.
