The sinful darkness of the smoke that ushered from the wreckage began to loiter around the sky, blotting any and all light available. The fading town of Renneville was totally consumed by the inky blackness. The ruined streets tumbled in further and the hearts of those who sought to save it were broken. Both British and German soldiers were reaching the end of their tether, hanging from a thread. Deep inside the church laid the final remains of the British division sent in to save Renneville from German occupation, out of the countless sections wasted in vain to protect Renneville, only 4 men were left and one French resistance member. Yet, a figure still squirmed in the shadows.

Stranded in the upper floor of the shelled-out house sat Johnson; he hadn't moved the slightest from when Williams had left him, and he was still very much alive. Given the strength, he would have howled in pain as he slowly died. Yet, he was too weak to do even that. He lolled his head around and whimpered to himself, "Jesus, why won't I die?" the march of boots on wooden beams brought his head up. In the room now were three German soldiers and their commander. He lifted Johnson's head with the end of his gun, and then let it drop. He turned to his men, "You two, take the prisoner to the Kubelwagen outside of town and report him to the nearest patrol. Make sure they deliver him to a camp. Let them heal him, then when that's done…bleed him dry." They saluted the officer and picked up Johnson, who was completely dead to words. "You," the officer said to the last soldier, "tell the men to ready for the attack. We'll take these British bastards one way or another."

Williams felt the need to reiterate, and did so, "Where's Peterson?" McIntyre looked to his friend again in sorrow, "He's dead" Williams was distraught, "Shite, just as well he gave me the Molotovs, we might still need them" McIntyre looked to Williams in utter disbelief, "How did you get those? You were nowhere near Peterson for the duration of the attack." Williams couldn't believe that his friend had no idea what was going on, "Annabelle and Peterson went through the sewers to escape the hotel, me and Johnson met them by a sewer grate. Peterson gave me the Molotovs." He looked to Annabelle in reassurance; "Annabelle, he did didn't he" she looked to the floor, Winslow's hateful stare keeping her down. McIntyre glanced at Captain Winslow, "Captain," he started, "what happened to Private Peterson?" Winslow addressed McIntyre, "Sergeant, stand down" McIntyre refused, "What happened to Private Peterson, Captain?" Winslow turned his back to them and began to mumble to himself. McIntyre reached out to Winslow, who brought his Sten down onto McIntyre's arm. McIntyre winced in pain, Winslow aimed his weapon at the remaining soldiers, "STAND DOWN!" he bellowed, "You all would've done the same thing in my position, don't criticise what you don't understand! It could've been a German, where do you have the right to tell me my actions were unnecessary?" Williams pleaded to him, "Captain, calm down," he had stood up now beside McIntyre, reinforcing his stance, "Just put your gun down, and we can sort all this out" Winslow threw away their help, "Just fuck off Williams! I don't need any of this. We're still at war you stupid bastards! If none of you are going to do anything about it, then I guess it's all up to me." Winslow stormed out the church doors and ran down the road that lead from the church, McIntyre, Williams, Annabelle, and Earnings all cried out for him to return, but it was too late.

Winslow shuddered as the volley of German rifle rounds ripped him apart; he collapsed to the floor and shivered. The German commander strode cockily out over to Winslow's beaten body. He spied Winslow's insignia, "A Captain, eh?" he mused. He drew his pistol and emptied two bullets into Winslow's head, blood sprayed onto his face and pooled around Winslow's now-empty expression.

McIntyre fell back from the church doors; everything was falling apart. He looked to his remaining men, they were scared, and he saw the fear bloat in their eyes. "Listen," he hushed, "there's no way in hell we can hold out against twenty Germans. Here's what I want you to do…" they were listening intently, "Get out of here, find the American armour. They shouldn't be too far away, I'll keep the Germans occupied." Annabelle spoke out against McIntyre's idea, "Miller did that, and now he's gone. Don't do it sir!" McIntyre re-affirmed his plan, "I'm not going to fight them. Now please, just get away and find the yanks. NOW!" They scrabbled their equipment together and left, Williams standing in the back doorway for a little longer, lingering one last look at McIntyre. McIntyre looked back to his concerned friend, "I'm not going anywhere Williams, but you need to." Williams curled his fingers and turned away. McIntyre sat upon one of the pews in the church. He glanced about at the biblical décor of the building and fingered his canteen. He looked longingly at the silvery metal that encased the fluid inside, "I think I deserve a scotch" he muttered to himself, and took a swig from the flask. He wiped his mouth dry and approached the church doors. Cupping his mouth he shouted out down the road in German, "I surrender!"

By now Williams, Annabelle and Earnings were a distance away. They had to clamber through all manners of gardens and hedgerows just to reach the western road that the American tanks were destined to cross. Williams found himself dragging behind, his pace was fatigued and cumbersome and he knew the reason. His wound combined with the absence of sleep had caught up with him and he felt its grip piercing his lungs with exhaustion. He threw himself down on the grass; Earnings balanced himself on a rock that protruded from the earth like a shard of debris by the roadside. Annabelle sat beside Williams, mopping his brow; she could tell he was weary. "I'm so f…fucking tired," he groaned, "I need some sleep" Annabelle agreed, "You need to rest Williams, you can't do this to yourself." Earnings was looking out for the tanks, when the shapes of several Shermans came bobbing into his field of view, "They're here!" he called to Williams and Annabelle. Earnings jumped into the road and waved his arms in the air shouting, "Oi! British soldiers here!" the tanks advance gradually slowed down until they were right beside the three soldiers. From within the green husk of the tank emerged a figure, he greeted the three with surprising appreciation, "Hi guys, Jesus are we glad we found you. Is this Renneville?" he pointed to the city behind them, Earnings nodded.

"Right then, are you folks the British paratroopers sent in to defend it?"

"Well what's left of it anyway"

"Fucking hell, what happened?"

"There were a couple of things we weren't expecting"

"Such as?"

"Tanks, and a bastard load of Krauts"

"Crap, what's the situation then with the city?"

"There's about twenty Germans in the town, could you spare a few men to flush them out?"

"What for? We can just blow the shit out of the town"

Earnings could see this wasn't going anywhere, "Look mate, we've got a British soldier still in there. I can lead the soldiers to where he is, and then we flush out the Germans so you can mow them down with the tank guns. Alright?" The tank commander mutually agreed, although he was disappointed he couldn't blow something up, "Sure, there's some guys from the Canadian infantry tagging along with us, I'm sure they'll help you." Earnings thanked the tank commander and went to consult the Canadian troops. "Hey," the tank commander said when he saw Williams, "what's up with him?" Williams raised his eyes to the American and slurred to him, "I'm fucking shattered mate, that's what's up with me". The American slinked back into his tank muttering, "Jeez, I was only asking."

McIntyre clipped the canteen firmly back onto his belt. He stretched his arms till the muscles in them began to string apart. All he had to do was wait for his untimely demise at the hands of the Germans; he wished he had really thought this plan through. Then they came, no more time to worry about decisions now; this was it. The soldiers entered through every nook and opening, weapons drawn and aimed at the solitary form in the centre of the church. McIntyre raised his arms again and felt the strain from his stretch. He could feel the heat from the gun barrels singing the air around him as they drew in close to his face. Just then, the commander sauntered into the church, still gripping his pistol from his encounter with Winslow before. He spread the men away and came face to face with McIntyre.

"With whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?" he hissed, his accent biting into each syllable with the sharpness of his voice resonating through the rafters of the church. McIntyre lowered his arms and answered, "I am Sergeant McIntyre of the 1st British Airborne." The commander lowered his head and chuckled softly to himself, "I do believe we've met before Sergeant," McIntyre looked confused, it was hard not to when approximately twenty German soldiers are surrounding you, weapons at the ready. "From what I did hear on that day, you were one of those responsible for spilling the blood of my comrade, Herr Kechtmarn at the town of St Fredrique du Clamont, Yes?" McIntyre bit his lip, "Although not completely responsible for the death of…" The commander swung his pistol into McIntyre's face, he span to the floor, "ANSWER THE QUESTION!" he screamed at McIntyre. McIntyre wiped the blood from his mouth and said what they wanted to hear, "Yes, I was responsible" The commander paced around McIntyre and tutted to himself, "You were lucky to escape that town alive, I had obliterated that speck of French dirt from the face of its sordid country. I should get a medal for that." McIntyre could see the fool rambling on and on, but decided not to do anything about it what could he do? If he made a move then he would be shot dead, as simple as that.

Time had dripped by, and things had bent back on themselves. McIntyre had been gagged and bound in the corner of the church, the Germans lazing around him. The rope scratched away at his flesh, burning his contents, he gave a muffled yelp of pain, yet they didn't care. The Germans had located the vats of wine hidden beneath the church and had run rampant with them. They sang drunken bar songs and sloshed the scarlet liqueur down their throats. McIntyre felt so helpless, the growing sound of drunken ranting blurring with the menace of his situation tampered with his psyche, and he felt defeated. From across the aisle he heard the inebriated cry of one of the German troops, "H-Hey, that's two prisoners in one day," he hiccupped and laughed to himself, "We should be honoured by the Fuhrer, it's not everyday the invaders surrender is it?" he guffawed a slack-jawed laugh and slapped his thigh with enthusiasm. McIntyre tried to block all this horror out, it was only a matter of time until they carted him off to a concentration camp, those cages of hell and torment, he couldn't survive that. Silently, he shed a tear.

From outside, Earnings led the Canadian soldiers round the back entrance of the church; some Americans had followed with them so as they could help as best as they could. Earnings had been given a M1 Garand rifle off one of the Americans, to replace his British rifle, he had been taught how to use one, but was still wary of the unfamiliar contraption. He had led the crew of soldiers into the church garden, "Alright chaps, this is it," he instructed, "don't use grenades, we could injure McIntyre, I want the machinegunners to put down suppressing fire from this doorway while I lead the riflemen to take out the remaining krauts." He was surprised at the level of tactical understanding he had, he was a medic, not a captain. He slinked to the side door with the riflemen in tow; he positioned himself next to the door and called to the machinegunners, "OPEN FIRE!"

The back door was blown down by the force of Private Smith's kick, he took shelter behind the doorframe whilst his comrades drew their guns and sent a hail of bullets at the unsuspecting German soldiers. The cackle of machinegun bullets gushed through the church, three of the drunken Germans were caught unaware and brought down to the cold floor, vomiting blood from every bullet-opened gate in their bodies. The others jumped to attention and dove for cover, the attack was unprecedented, and they were too scared to load their guns properly. Earnings crept along the church wall with his troop of men, their breaths held tight. Now the Germans came into clear sight from behind their cover, Earnings levelled his rifle and told the others to do so. They let rip a bolt of lead that took down another two Germans, Earnings was propelled back by the force of the Garand, yet his shot connected and aided in the German retreat. The remaining Germans fled the church and made their steady way down the roads of Renneville. Their path was blocked by the oncoming sight of three American tanks, one soldier yelled to the other, "Where are the grenades?" to which he could only reply, "Back in the church."

Earnings signalled the machinegunners to advance to the church windows and he untied McIntyre. McIntyre was surprised to see his fellow soldier leading the American retaliation. "Bloody good show Earnings" McIntyre shook Earnings' hand and picked up one of the German machineguns. From the road rolled the tanks, as soon as the first one saw the German soldiers, he opened fire with the heavy machinegun. The bullets sprayed down the street, mincing up the final few German troops, although there were thirteen left, they were too stricken with shock and surprise to do anything against the Americans. Inside the church, the troops let out short bursts of controlled fire to see off the last of the Germans. As soon as the last one fell, the Americans and the Canadians let out a cheer of triumph; McIntyre sat down on a pew and pulled Earnings next to him. "Thank you Earnings," he said, "I half expected Williams to show up, you know?" Earnings nodded with McIntyre, "I know," Earnings continued, "Williams was suffering from exhaustion so the Yanks took him on the truck and are currently seeing to him. Don't know how he survived all this without sleep." McIntyre had let his eyes wander as Earnings told him this, his gaze rested on the countenance of the German commander who had gagged him; he had been the first to fall to the Americans, serves him right, he thought.

The tanks drew in the rest of the American convoy into the city, the blanket of smoke rising from the battlefield. The soldiers in the church opened the doors and went to debrief with the tank commander, as they made their way, light from the sun broke through the defences of the cloud and smoke, beaming onto the now-calm city. McIntyre met the leader of his liberators, the tank commander, who was happy to see the plan succeed, "Well fuck me, I though that was never going to work. Glad you guys got out of there okay, especially you Sergeant, I've heard good things about you." He smiled at McIntyre and led the tanks on, "Wait!" called McIntyre, the tank commander looked back to see what the problem was, "Where are you going? We need to reinforce the town's defences and secure it for allied occupation." The tank commander sighed and explained to McIntyre, "Sorry there Sergeant, we have orders from HQ to clear the next set of towns, you'd be welcome to join us." McIntyre thought about it, but had to make his refusal, "Sorry, my mission is to hold Renneville from any possible attack until allied occupation." He glanced to Earnings who was busy chatting away to the Canadian riflemen, "I'm sure Private Earnings would help you with the next series of towns, wouldn't you Private?" Earnings overheard McIntyre and his face lit up, he nodded eagerly and hopped onto the side of the tank, "I definitely would sir, thank you!" he called to McIntyre, then to his new Canadian friends, "I'm coming with you lads!" McIntyre chuckled to himself and stretched his back. "We'd be happy to leave a few guys here with you, just so you can hold out against Jerry" McIntyre thanked the tank commander and strolled off to the truck.

McIntyre jumped onto the back of the truck and looked around. He pulled back the fabric sheets that obscured the trucks contents, and sure enough, there was Williams, sound asleep for the first time in a week. Annabelle sat by his side watching him with caring, compassionate eyes that was until she saw McIntyre watching her. She looked down and felt a bit embarrassed. McIntyre wiped his mouth and plainly told her, "I'm going to stay here with a few American lads, are you going to stay with Williams?" he murmured at the mention of his name. Annabelle laughed at Williams little noise and smiled at him, "Well sir, I think I will. He needs a friendly face to look at when he wakes up doesn't he?" McIntyre agreed, "Okay Annabelle, you stay beside him, I might see you and Williams later, okay?" she had turned her attention to the unconscious Williams and didn't notice McIntyre get out the truck. He stood beside the roadside as the American convoy trailed off into the distance, off to save more unwitting allied soldiers. "Er…sir?" a voice came from behind him, McIntyre looked to his new squad, ten gritty-faced American soldiers. He turned around to face them all, hoisted his belt, and rearranged his bandolier. "Alright chaps, I'm Sergeant McIntyre, this town is our responsibility. We will be officially relieved by tomorrow, until then, be on high alert. Don't stress over it too much, just remember to keep your gun on you at all times. Many good men have fallen fending this city; if you too fall to it, remember that you went down with some of the best in her majesties armed forces. Now…fall out." McIntyre kept an eye on the men as each peeled off to their own position to wait for any Germans. They all seemed so eager to help the cause.

No Germans did come, the next day, McIntyre and his men were relieved by the same convoy that had done so before. Williams had made a full recovery and was keen to rejoin his friend in the remaining operation to clear out Normandy from German occupation. Annabelle also accompanied the men in the final days of relieving Normandy before being reassigned to a high priority mission deep inside German territory. Earnings stuck with his squad of Americans and were a major role in many frontline missions across France. It was in this squad that he was told the fate of the American mission to find one "James Francis Ryan". The path the American soldiers took almost exactly mirrored the path of McIntyre and Williams in such a way, that they were no more than three miles apart.

THE END