McIntyre looked about him, they still hadn't cleaned the streets of bodies from the previous days incidents, the rotting flesh rasping in the air alongside him. It was unbearable. He looked up to the church tower to see his friend Phillips empty a volley of machinegun fire at the oncoming German rabble. Their worst fear had arisen; the Germans had pushed them back to the brink of their defences, and now they were gently teetering over the cliff face. McIntyre hobbled through the church doors and pushed them ajar, so that he had sufficient cover. From the small windows to the sides of the main door stood Earnings and Captain Winslow, they were hastily firing round after round at the Germans, their bodies flailing wildly with each rifle round that connected with them. Earnings face gradually became more and more panicked and distorted, fear making sure he loaded each round into his weapon. Winslow looked back to Miller and barked at him, "Get up and shoot them! Shoot the Nazi bastards!" McIntyre groggily heaved himself up and laid the rocket launcher to the wall. He unfastened his uniform to cool down and loaded his Sten. This summers day had slowly fermented to an even worse situation.
The blinding heat from the sun and the intensity of the Germans assault bore down on the remaining allied soldiers like the wrath of God. The summer breeze had fled and left the foliage to die in their surroundings alongside the soldiers. Sparking wreckage, bloodied corpses, and burnt out impact craters of explosives adorned the town of Renneville like battle scars. Fate had turned a blind eye to its promising liberators.
Deep inside the bowels of the sewers scurried Annabelle and Peterson. They felt their way across the sewer linings with the light from the open sewer grills showing them the way like beacons of summer illumination. Annabelle was ahead of Peterson, and she kept peeking back to see how her friend was doing, he was still shaken from the recent fight and the deaths of his comrades in arms. "Hurry up Peterson," she urged, "Once we reach the church we can rest and fend off the remains of the German troops, but at the minute the others are relying on us. Come on!" she went back and pushed him on through the steamy dank corridors beneath the city streets. He swung his head about in distaste of the situation, and caught a glimpse of a figure outside the grills that he recognised. "Williams?"
Sure enough, Williams was still dragging his barely conscious mate just next to where Annabelle and Peterson were passing. Peterson hissed from the sewer grill, "Williams!" Williams tossed his head back and forth looking for the voice that had harkened to him from the assumed ether. Peterson leaned his hand out from the grill and clamped it around Williams ankle, he leapt up in fright and noticed his friend's arm emerging from the catacombs of the city. "What the bloody hell are you doing down there?" asked Williams, still well aware that German soldiers were bustling around the city. Peterson pushed his face against the grill, "We're going to the church to fend of the Germans, I thought you'd be there by now." Williams wiped his dry and tired eyes with his bloody fist, the wound on his arm had wept all this way, and began to stick to Williams, "Not by a long shot mate," he responded, "Me and Johnson are going to find our own way there, and hopefully take out some bleedin' krauts on the way. You get there safely, alright?" Peterson nodded, then delved into a satchel to his side and removed three dusty objects. Williams was confused, "Here you go," said Peterson, "You take these Molotov's and put them to good use, I doubt I'll get a chance to use them." Williams looked at the bottles, they were grimy and dirty, with a murky liquid swilling around excitedly in them, torn rags from a pair of curtains swayed from the bottleneck, limp, yet oiled and ready for the flames to consume it. "Cheers, Peterson" smiled Williams. It was then that Annabelle gradually made her way to the grill to look upon Williams, "Annabelle?" he was taken away by the surprise of her appearance, why wasn't she at the church already? "Are you okay? What are you still doing here?" Williams was unsure how to react to the will to fight shown by Annabelle. "Peterson needed help," she said, "Everyone else was dead, I had to get him out of there" she smiled just like she had when they first spoke, and Williams knew what had to be done. "Get to the church and ride out the rest of the storm," he told her, "don't worry about me and Johnson, we'll catch up with you chaps later." He arched his back, picked up Johnson and continued to drag him away. Peterson and Annabelle took a fleeting glance at each other and followed the sewer once more.
McIntyre emptied the final round of his current magazine and spun back behind the church doors. "We won't be able to hold out for long Captain!" he hollered to Winslow, who was deep inside his own realm of determination to quell the German attack. Earnings too was deeply focussed on his actions, and neither could hear the amplifying noise of tracks upon cobble, nor the commotion of German tongue orchestrating a plan. McIntyre, however, did and dove for the rocket launcher. He glanced at both windows, he couldn't risk letting Earnings or Winslow stop firing for a second, or they would loose their cover. He held the weapon tightly to his chest and headed for the stirs to the church tower.
Phillips was sat aloft on the church tower, expelling hundreds of bullets in seconds at the Germans, those that ventured from behind cover were soon convulsing on the floor in their own blood. McIntyre heaved himself up the last step to where Phillips was perched, "What the fucking hell are you doing up here?" coughed Phillips. McIntyre lugged the rocket launcher up with him and got into position. Phillips kept looking back between the targets and McIntyre to see what each was doing. McIntyre placed the weapon on his shoulder and aimed through the smoke and rubble, he knew the tank was there. Its laboured advance was justly dignified by the grumble of its tracks grinding over bodies, making them burst with fluid and offal. McIntyre readied himself and took a shot. The rocket span and crashed into the side of the tank, splitting its tracks from its side, yet the creature wasn't down, it reared its metal snout and glared at the tower, Phillips froze in terror, his skin whitening with each passing second. McIntyre yelped to his startled comrade, "Help me load the rocket launcher! Now, Phillips!" Phillips dragged himself back from the edge of the tower and sheepishly looked to McIntyre, who pleaded to him, "Just put the shell into the fucking tube!" Phillips shakily removed a rocket from McIntyre's backpack and slid it into the cold metal cylinder of the rocket launcher. McIntyre heard a click next to his ear and positioned himself again. The tank was aimed directly at him.
His heart stopped, all time bled to a stop and everything happened as each second dragged into an hour. Firstly, the tank fired, then he did. The tank shell just missed McIntyre, but instead connected with the unlucky Lieutenant Phillips, who detonated with a flood of claret and body parts that jettisoned all over the tower top. McIntyre was drenched in the contents of his fellow soldier, as well as being flung back down a portion of the stairs. The rocket from McIntyre's shot collided with the tank and prised the turret from the tank's chassis. The resulting explosion directed shards of metal to rain everywhere. McIntyre wiped some of Phillips from his face and pulled himself back to the body of the church where Earnings and Winslow were holding back.
Earnings spent another round into an approaching German and hid to reload. He called to Winslow, "Got another one captain!" Winslow muttered to Earnings, "Shut your pie-hole Earnings and concentrate on your reloading" Earnings brought himself up and opened fire again at the Germans, or so he thought. His rifle clicked harmlessly and spluttered with inactivity. Earnings was mortified, "FUCK!" he squealed, "MY FUCKING RIFLES JAMMED!" Earnings panicked and beat the walls for an explanation, Winslow shouted at him, "HEY! Shut up! Just get out your sidearm and shoot, don't give in!" Earnings looked to his belt, strapped to it was the pouch of an American Colt 1911. Because Medics weren't trained to be the best at weapons, some of them were given an American pistol, due to its availability and fast, fairly powerful rate of fire it was an invaluable means of protection. Earnings pulled the pistol from its holster and fired wildly into the German gang. Just behind them emerged Peterson and Annabelle from the sewer entrance. Peterson lifted the sewer hatch and slid it aside, the metal circle banging loudly against the concrete slabs of the church floor. Winslow spun around, hollered at Peterson, "Die Nazi Bastard", and opened fire. Peterson was stung by a throng of bullets and he slid to the floor helplessly, coughing up blood in vigorous amounts. Annabelle screamed at Peterson's assault and stayed in the sewer, Peterson's foot dangling into the open hole. Winslow heard Annabelle's cry and ran to the sewer opening, now he recognised Peterson and covered his mouth in dread for what he had done. Annabelle peered up to see Winslow and his horrified look of realisation. "Captain…" she began, "What have you done?"
Williams rested Johnson at the peak of the stairs. They had found shelter in a broken house, the front had been torn away from what appeared to be a tank shell, the view from the gaping hole of the building was astounding. Husks of metal and bone dressed the streets and ruins of Renneville, fire shot and bloomed from the broken buildings like flaming weeds. Williams kept himself away from the opening, something was amiss, "Can you hear that?" he asked Johnson, "Hear what?" replied Johnson, "Exactly" finished Williams. The wind was all that was audible through the tattered stone and rags of fabric, it clumsily tapped along the brick walls and pushed aside the textile that happened to remain upright. Williams crawled over to the missing wall and looked to the road, indeed his suspicions were confirmed: the final German soldiers had assembled just beneath them. The mob of German troops had regrouped to think of a new strategy against the British. Williams recoiled from the broken side of the building and hailed to Johnson, "They're down there, about twenty of them. We might have a chance if we…" Johnson put a bloody mitt to Williams mouth in an attempt to silence him. He pulled himself up and reasoned with Williams, "Don't Williams…" he started, "I know you mean well, but you're too hopeful. You've seen the way I am, I don't do heroic stand-offs, just like in St Fredrique's. It's what I do. Finlay did what he does, go in with fists flailing, full of gusto. Donahue did what he always does, keep our backs covered from aloft…" Williams saw a tear well in the hazy eye of Johnson, "Miller did what he does, and work with what he had. And me…" The tear sprang from his eye and lolled down his face, "I curled up and gave in. I'm such a bastard" the tear stained a clear path through the grime and blood cast on his face. He gripped a hold of Williams' arm and begged him, "Williams, I haven't known you long, but I know you're a good man. Get out of here. You don't have to suffer this…please…for me." Williams consoled his sobbing friend, but heard voices from the Germans below. He didn't manage to collect all the information, but the words that he understood came as clear as daylight over the horizon of hell.
"Advance"
"Streets"
"Attack"
"Failure"
"Radio"
"Stuka"
"Destroy"
Winslow picked up Annabelle from the sewers and brushed her down, she moved his hands away in disgust. Earnings came back from the window to see what was going on. When he saw Petersons' corpse, he stumbled back in horror. Winslow tried to make Annabelle look in his eyes to get a straight answer, yet before he could get a word out, Earnings jumped in asking, "What the bloody hell happened to Peterson?" Winslow gave Earnings a deep satanic glare, forcing him to recount his words; there was nothing to see here. Winslow left Annabelle sitting beside the sewer entrance and kicked the body of Peterson into the open sewer hole. A dull, yet moistened thud confirmed his action, and Winslow slid the sewer cover over the hole. McIntyre flopped down the stairs, still heavily laden with Phillips smeared over his face. He was intrigued as to why the three remaining soldiers were looking so guilty, yet didn't feel obliged to ask. He dropped the rocket launcher and went to Annabelle, "Annabelle, are you okay, where's everyone else?" she looked up to Winslow, who still grimaced at her in discontent, then to McIntyre who was truly concerned for the well-being of his squad-mates. Annabelle began her recount as a low mumble, but slowly grew in volume, "I quickly got out of the hotel before the Germans swamped it, Miller and Carter are both dead and Peterson…" she felt Winslow's stare burning into her head, "Peterson died as well, they all died." McIntyre crouched down to her face and asked, "Is Williams and Johnson okay?" she glanced back up again and answered, "Yes, but Johnson's hurt badly, I think its his legs." Winslow acted innocent to his earlier actions and asked Annabelle, "What about Benton, Ridley, Markson, and Rush?" Annabelle sat silent, but McIntyre jumped to her aid, "Do you think they'd get those bleeding tanks through if they were alive?" Winslow turned back from them and made his way to the windows. Everyone remained silent, not wanting to converse, when an unexpected guest fell through the door to the side. It was Williams.
He picked himself up and clambered over to the remaining few soldiers, "Jesus Christ it's good to see you!" he exclaimed. Annabelle leapt to Williams to help him up, he was exhausted. McIntyre trudged over to Williams, trying not to look at the vastly worsening wound to his arm, "What's al the commotion for Williams?" He got his footing and told the situation to the others, "Me and Johnson found out what the Germans are up to. We were hiding in this house, and I heard that the krauts are trying to sneak through the streets to reach the church and smoke us out. If that fails, then they're going to radio in a Stuka to bomb the whole fucking building." All was aflutter, McIntyre asked, "Where's Johnson now?" Williams looked to his feet and shambled over to pews, "He told me to leave him in the house. After all we've been through, I didn't want to piss the poor lad off." McIntyre put a hand on Williams shoulder and told him, "It's okay, there was nothing you could do" Williams nodded in agreement, then looked about the church in bemusement, "Where's Peterson?"
