The plumes of smoke and flame reached deep into the heart of the sky and plucked at its tendons. The hazy orange hue glowed from the sparking debris of the German tank. Bodies decorated the floor, partly covered in the substance of the surrounding buildings. All was at a standstill. No one dared move. The gathering tower of smoke could be seen for miles around, and the Germans knew it. Like a battalion of ants, they slowly poured through the debris and rubble of the mouth of the town and entered the waiting trap. Eyes beaded down weapons sights, searching for answers to the explosion, the intent to kill erupting in their eyes. The British soldiers inside the town were still in wait for the opportune moment to strike from their concealed positions. The midday sun grew increasingly interested of the activity in the town and leaned in for a closer look. Each second grated by in anticipation for the attack.
Privates Benton and Ridley were stationed in the lofty remains of an apartment building overlooking the main road. Benton kept a tight grip on the MG42, Ridley ready as ever with the ammunition by his side. AS soon as the first German plodded into view Benton loosened his back and took aim. Ridley squeezed his friends shoulder, "Not yet you stupid twat," he scolded, "wait till more of them come into view, then shoot" Benton acknowledged and resumed the watch of the amassing German troops. It took a few moments, but soon about fifteen Germans were assembled in the street, the exact same number as the British troops guarding the town. Benton looked back to Ridley to ask him about what he should do next. Silently his friend gave the order. Benton quickly turned back to his weapon sight and fired.
Bullets peppered onto the street from all directions. First it was Benton and Ridley, then Markson and Rush opened fire from their position. The Germans in the street were pounded down by the sheer force of that many machine gun rounds. However, more soldiers entered through the rubble of the bakers and returned fire onto the two machine gunners. Bullets sizzled through the air sparking off the walls they collided with. Next, the soldiers in the bottom of the hotel began to fire, Carter, Peterson, and Miller. All three men sent volley after volley of rifle rounds at the Germans, driving them back. The bullets pinged off and around the fallen vehicle and the dead Germans. Annabelle had taken sanctity in the higher levels of the hotel. The resounding crack of a well-targeted shot marked her entry to the battle.
Inside the ruin of the bakers came a yelp of pain. It was Johnson. The explosion had directed shards of metal and masonry into his legs. Like a wounded animal crawling for help, he clambered his way from beneath the debris. The entire front of the building had collapsed. There was no way out. Beside him lay Williams; he was regaining conscience too. Johnson stretched out to Williams for support, his fingertips just scraping at Williams' shoulder. Williams brought himself up and looked to Johnson, his legs were horrifically mangled, blood seeping from all manners of gashes and openings in his legs. "Jesus fucking Christ, Williams!" He sobbed, "It hurts so much! Get me out of here!" tears galloped down his face, and Williams took another look at Johnson. This wasn't the man who had tried to kill him only moments before; this was just like any other poor fellow unfortunate enough to be a victim to this war. Williams grabbed Johnson's hand, "Don't worry about a thing," he said comfortingly to Johnson; "I'm going to get you the hell out of here" He hauled Johnson's helpless body onto his shoulders and made for the stairs at the back of the bakers.
Over in the Town Hall, McIntyre lurked with Jacobs. They had heard the not too distant gun fight, but kept their position inside the mayor's office. Jacobs wanted to go out and support his comrades in the battle, but he was held back by the guiding hand of McIntyre. "Only open fire when more tank support arrives, only you can break those tanks, private." Jacobs looked at McIntyre, his face was of grim determination and he too longed to save his brothers from peril. McIntyre's ears pricked to the trundle of more tanks coming to the town. "Here they come Jacobs," he said eagerly, "I'll give you cover and you make a break for that red car over there" he pointed to the hollowed red skeleton of a car that had a perfect view onto the entrance of the town. Without further hesitation, McIntyre and Jacobs sprang from the building to the vehicle and prepared themselves. Dust floated in from the approaching tank's tracks. McIntyre flickered his eyes from one place to the other to keep his friend covered, "Fire!" he yelled, and Jacobs shot. The rocket whirled and propelled through the air with a choreographed sense of freedom. The shell collided into the tanks side armour and resulted in a fiery cascade. The monster spluttered its final word, and gave up on its owners, smoke and sparks choked from the open hatch, sending the vehicles occupants aflame into the open street. McIntyre gave a short burst from his Sten taking what was left down in a smatter of bullets. McIntyre congratulated his companion on expert marksmanship, then they dashed over to the flanking side of the hotel in search of more tanks.
On the opposite approach, Captain Winslow and Private Earnings were cramped inside a bombed-out building, waiting for the remaining German tanks to roll into the next trap. Both soldiers lay in wait for their foes, but nothing came. Earnings kept glancing back to the sounds of battle over by the hotel, couldn't they help their fellow soldiers fend off the German approach? Winslow looked menacingly at Earnings who said, "Sir, why is it only us two defending this approach? Shouldn't we have had at least Markson and Rush…" Winslow ignored his whimpering colleague and stared back to the road access, still no sign of the Germans. "Blast," cursed Winslow, "If they aren't here then this plan is done for!" His words didn't fall on deaf ears. No sooner had he murmured this did a German half track screech around the corner. Winslow dived for the detonator and hammered the plunger home. The vehicle roared and combusted in a golden spout of fire and delight. Winslow laughed and cheered his achievement, only to be dashed asunder. A heavy German tank thundered past the wreckage of the half track, completely ignoring it. This was no obstacle for the heavy King Tiger Tank of Germany's elite Panzer divisions. Winslow ordered to Earnings, "Get Jacobs and McIntyre! I'll do what I can!" without wanting to doubt the power of his commander, Earnings scurried to the heavy street fight at the hotel to seek aid. As he ran past the road, the tank opened fire with its heavy cannon, obliterating an entire building with a single shell. Showered in debris, stone and mortar, Earnings kept running to McIntyre and Jacobs. The tank now swerved its turret to aim at the soldiers in the hotel. "BASTARDS!" hollered Winslow, who then hurled his anti-tank grenade onto the tank. The tiny bundle of explosives plonked gently onto the roof of the King Tiger Tank. The grenade birthed a monumental explosion that vomited a surge of metal, offal, and iron. Winslow gave a sigh of relief from his rubble-encased position.
The smoke from the first tank wreckage was now a wall of black filth. The Germans were firing blindly into it, and the British were blindly firing out of it. Bullets skimmed and cracked off walls and roads. Annabelle began to fire erratically, she couldn't find a target through the smoke, she flinched every time a shot whizzed near her. She mopped her brow and panicked. Although she could not find a soldier to target, she saw something else instead. Over the river squatted a tank, its cannon aimed directly at the hotel. Annabelle dropped her rifle and fled down the staircase. The tank shell ripped through the upper floors of the hotel and sent the building crumbling down. Wood, stone, brick, plaster, all coughed and wheezed with demise as its form fell to ash. Annabelle ran for her life, the tumbling building kicking at the heels of her boots. She kept on running down and down into the basement. Miller, Peterson, and Carter saw her plummet into the basement, "What the fucking hell's going on!" asked Carter. Annabelle crawled to the sewer grate, "Please, sirs, get in. there is not much time!" the ceiling buckled under the weight of the fallen building. Carter turned to face Annabelle and scoffed, "No way, I'm staying here and fighting those bastards one at a time" A bullet zipped into the back of his neck whilst he had his back turned. Carter hit the floor, spitting up blood from his cold blue lips. "SHIT!" exclaimed Peterson, "Carter!" Miller saw that Annabelle had a plan, and knew what had to be done, "Peterson, take the Molotov's and follow Annabelle. You're a better thrower than me, you go. I'll stay here" Peterson began to sob uncontrollably, "But...b…but that's just suicide. Don't leave me Josef…Carter's dead, don't die." Miller crouched down to his troubled friend, "I'll fight so you can make it out of this mess alive. Now go!" Peterson grabbed the bag of Molotov's and entered the sewer. Annabelle took one last look at Miller, "He loves you," he said to Annabelle, "don't leave him behind". She shed a tear and closed the sewer hatch after her. Miller stood up and looked through the small hatches overlooking the roads from where he had been shooting earlier. The Germans kept pouring in; there wasn't any stopping them. Their bodies mounted from the machine guns, but now some began to break free and advance further. Miller aimed and squeeze a round into one of them, he fell without pause. Repeatedly Miller fired, bringing his opponents to their knees. He stopped to reload and take cover. A single soldier had made his way into the rubble of the hotel and saw Miller. The German fired. Five molten beads of metal burst into Miller's side, and he wailed in agony. Bullets dotted across the basement floor, splashing dust and dirt in the air. Miller dragged himself away to finish loading his weapon. Swiftly Miller drew his sidearm and emptied a bullet into the German's face as soon as he came into view, the blood blared over the wall behind him, and the body collapsed down the remaining stairs. Miller examined his wounds and prodded them. Blood gurgled and dripped from the several machine pistol rounds to his side. Miller groaned and held his aching ribs. The last thing he heard was the safety catch of a German rifle being pulled back right next to his head.
Earnings had flew back in recoil to the hotel's demolition, and was horrified at the snap of a German rifle from within the remaining complex. He scurried into the Town Hall, his gaze bouncing back and forth from the walls. He couldn't see anybody. Several German bodies lay crumpled on the floor, he tiptoed through them, the sound of the machineguns kept buzzing in the background. A weapon clicked in readiness next to his forehead, "S…S…S-Sergeant," Earnings stammered, McIntyre lowered his gun, "The Captain needs your assistance, we all have to pull back to the church immediately. This side of the town has fallen. We have to go now" McIntyre was perplexed at his superiors choice of command. He scratched his head, "Alright then…I suppose. C'mon Jacobs, let's get the hell out of here" Private Jacobs descended the stairs to the higher floors of the Town Hall and followed McIntyre. He looked around the outsides of the town, rubble and death littered the streets, the machineguns hadn't stopped since the Germans had entered. With one last fleeting look around their area, McIntyre assembled his fellow soldiers and leapt into the streets. All three men sprinted down the road, bullets catapulting around their feet from the slowly advancing Germans. "DON'T STOP!" bellowed McIntyre, "KEEP GOING!" Jacobs began wheezing and slowing down from the other two. A stray rifle round span into his heel and Jacobs dived to the floor. McIntyre halted to see his friend dragging his broken self slowly forward. Earnings too stopped, only to hear McIntyre yell, "You keep going, I'll sort out Jacobs!" Earnings did as he was told and ran back to the church. McIntyre picked up his fallen comrade and turned him around, "You can do it, you're not badly hurt" he reassured him. Jacobs gurgled his plea to McIntyre, "Don't let me die, don't let me die, don't let me die, don't let me die" McIntyre put a tight grip on Jacob's wrists and dragged him down the road. The machine gunners were starting to loose their ammo, the flow of bullets eddying slightly. The Germans came in force now, their numbers swelling to an improbable amount. The bullets came at McIntyre and Jacobs with demented purpose and one grazed the side of McIntyre's leg. He slumped and looked to his wound, there was barely any blood coming from it, so he kept on dragging his friend. McIntyre reached the corner of the road and pulled Jacobs round, "We did it, home stretch now Jacobs…Jacobs?" he gazed at his dead acquaintance. Three gushing bullet holes had torn into Jacob's chest as McIntyre had dragged him. He pounded the chest of Jacobs howling, "DAMN YOU! FUCK!" blood leaped from the swollen bullet wounds and splashed onto McIntyre, gently spraying him in a fine mist. He could obviously hear the gathering symphony of tanks and soldiers, and pulled the rocket launcher from Jacobs dead claws. McIntyre took the remaining rockets from Jacobs pack and shouted down the street, "PULL BACK TO THE CHURCH!" he lumbered the rest of the way with the heavy weapon in hand, tears sliding down his face.
All the while this had gone on, Williams and Johnson had been sitting in the higher levels of the bakers, pondering what to do. Johnson groaned and coughed up a portion of blood, "Jesus, we're going to die aren't we Williams?" Williams ignored his dying brother and examined the second floor of the bakers. He could make out the weakness of the neighbouring wall to the next building along, "Johnson," he said, "don't hate me for this" Williams ran and hit the wall with his shoulder and upper arm. His wound moaned and smeared blood against the wall. The partition huffed and crumbled into dust. Williams had a plan to escape the bakers, and he grabbed Johnson. He carried Johnson into the next building and did the same for the next wall, this one needing slightly more attention than the other. He winced from the gathering pain of his wound. Blood collected on the wall and his arm, and now the blood began to flow down his arm with carefree abandon. Williams kept charging through the buildings until he reached one with safe distance from the Germans and a flight of stairs leading down. He shuddered to a halt and lost balance. Williams had lost a lot of blood and he felt it cry down his arm. Still persistent as ever, he lugged Johnson through the buildings to the stairs and put him downstairs. Each step gained in concentration to keep it steady, Williams was in no shape to fight, not with his amount of blood loss. He looked out the window of the building to see McIntyre, Jacobs and Earnings run from the Town Hall. He cried out to them, but his voice was too weak to be heard. Johnson began to rouse his voice and said to Williams, "Look, Williams…I'm sorry for the way I acted. Its not your fault, I…" he stopped to blot out the pain of his legs, "I don't care anymore. Annabelle would never love me, I'm just going to accept that before I die." Williams snapped to his friend, "Don't say that! You're going to make it out of here. Have faith." He looked back outside to see the amassing Germans almost swamp the machinegun emplacements. One of them threw a grenade high up into the buildings rafters. The explosion threw out Ridley and Benton onto the concrete floor; they opened fire at their bodies to check if they had survived the explosion and the fall. "Bastards," hissed Williams, "if we go out there, they'll surely kill us." He peeked around the building and saw his final salvation, as if we wouldn't have had any more lucky chances today. A side door that lead through the alleys and streets of Renneville stood to his left. He picked up Johnson and dragged him once more across the floor, blood trailing a hideous streak behind him. "There's hope yet Johnson," encouraged Williams, "there's always hope". The battle dragged on through the emptying streets of Renneville to its ultimate destination, where the remaining soldiers of four sections of her majesties armed forces had hastily retreated. Ten men against half a platoon of German stormtroopers.
