A fallen tree slept silently a far distance from the field, near the remains of the afternoon's escapades. The grass shimmered and waved in the noontime air, complete with the smell of excitement and movement. The miles of fields and trees were a beautiful sight to behold in the afternoon hues; trodden paths winding and weaving through the hulks of wreckage and equipment. Just outside the city of Arnhem lay the drop points of the British 1st Airborne; Operation Market Garden was underway.
By the open carriages of the Horsa gliders sat the lonely person of a tired soldier. His hair had now grown back to its original length since it's shortening at the beginning of the conflict. His black wavy locks resembled the nocturnal tide, flowing in overlapping curls. His face was adorned with paint that concealed his true features in a blend of browns and greens. Beside him lay his weapon and a red British beret. Every now and then he would look to his hands, the grime and dirt in every crease in his fingers, grit sunk beneath his nails with purpose. He rested against the side of the glider and looked forlorn.
From beside the beaten paths a soldier bumbled his way over to the resting figure and tried to haul his attention from the floor.
"Captain McIntyre!"
McIntyre lifted his head from the earth and addressed the soldier. "What is it Sergeant Matthews?"
"The next wave of gliders are coming in. We need to secure the landing zone."
McIntyre manoeuvred off the glider and picked up his hat and gun. He followed Sergeant Matthews where to the rest of the squad were stood. McIntyre looked back over his shoulder to see the incoming gliders.
The gliders started off as gently descending specks that drifted on down through the atmosphere. As they approached, the sky began to darken and the sound of the air being sliced became more apparent. The first few gliders thudded into the floor, tearing more alleys out of the lawn, then gradually slowed down until they ceased to move at all.
Soldiers began pouring from the gliders, filling the fields with a mass of bodies that wiggled their way to the others that stood in wait. McIntyre's eyes sifted through the horde of men, if they were going to advance on Arnhem, they would need the tactical advice of a superior officer. Not long after he began searching, the Lieutenant Colonel made himself known.
He strode around the empty gliders with such carefree abandon; it was as if there was no war at all. He examined the surrounding foliage and gave a sigh of helplessness, the beauty of this place, held in a noose by the German armed forces. He tipped his beret and rested his Sten on his shoulder, twirling his moustache cockily as he approached McIntyre.
"Good morning chaps," he began politely, "bloody fine weather today don't you think?" McIntyre gaped his mouth in an attempt to respond, but was interrupted by the Colonel, "Sorry to keep you lads waiting for so long, the pilots had a spot of bother with the weather back in Blighty, hope you don't mind." McIntyre quickly stepped into the conversation before the Colonel could ramble on, "Sir, with the deepest respects, there is important business to attend to." The colonel shook himself out of his waffling banter and began to listen to what McIntyre had to say.
"Sir, the main attack force has split into three main battalions, each taking a different route through Arnhem," he directed the Colonel to an open map of the area that laid limply on the field. "1st battalion made an attempt to break in through Oosterbeek," McIntyre pointed to one of the crude red lines from the marked landing zone to Arnhem, "2nd battalion headed straight for the bridge, whilst the 3rd battalion followed on and got into the outskirts of Arnhem." The Colonel caressed his chin; this was a dire strategy at taking over the city.
McIntyre looked hopefully at him, "Any ideas, sir?" The Colonel stood and thought for a while, then announced his plan to McIntyre. "Well, we should try to link up with these battalions at once, that's obvious. I shall lead a battalion to relieve the men on the bridge, while you take some of the South Staffords to help out the other stranded lads." McIntyre took a double take at the Colonel, "What?" The Colonel beamed a transcendent smile at McIntyre, "Yes dear lad, obviously you have the practicality to understand the situation. I can trust you to lead one of the groups of the South Staffords into combat, can't I?" McIntyre felt uneasy, he had never been given command of so many people before, yet he wasn't going to let his discomfort be known to the Colonel.
Off behind them stood McIntyre's original squad with Sergeant Matthews trying to listen in on McIntyre's conversation with the Lieutenant Colonel, he leaned in slightly and cupped his ear. "What are you doing Matthews?" asked Private Timms, scorn lifting his voice into Matthews' ears. Matthews stumbled over himself and looked back to Timms, who stood up and glared down to him.
Timms was an average looking man, yet something about him made everyone who saw him take a second look. There was something about Timms that made most of the soldiers wary, his gaze transfixed people like a viper catching its prey, by luring and cooing to them softly into the darkness. One eye was brown, and the other a cold steel blue that flickered with demonic light when the sun caught it.
Matthews brushed himself down and leered at Timms, "Yes, what is it?" he enquired. Timms changed his face to a polite and well-meaning expression, "I was just curious as to why you keep giving the Captain those stares. He's just a Captain after all, it's not like he's done much is it, bar kill a few krauts." Matthews was exasperated that Timms didn't know what McIntyre had done. "Do you have any idea what the Captain has done?" Timms sighed, Matthews continued, "He was in Renneville!" Before Timms could make a witty response, his face flopped in shock, "You can't be serious!" he exclaimed. Matthews paced around Timms for a few seconds, and then confirmed his statement. "I thought that was just propaganda, to keep morale up." Matthews planted a smug grin on his face and let it grow. "What happened? Did he tell you?" asked Timms, now fully in the grip of Matthews' story. "Well, the Captain was the one that is referred in the story as, "The Sergeant", I overheard it when we were assembled for the invasion of Holland." Timms couldn't believe it, "You mean, he had the Panzerschreck, and the officer threatened him, and the final stand in the church. HE did all that?" he pointed to McIntyre still in utter disbelief. Matthews nodded; the growing smile blossomed in a flower of achievement that shone straight through Timms. "Crikey" was all he said.
The Colonel checked his Sten and cleared his throat, "Well then," he began, "time to get this over with. Captain, I bid you good luck with the mission." McIntyre shook the Colonel's hand, "And I you, sir" he replied. The Lieutenant Colonel assembled his troops and headed off down the meadows, McIntyre was stood with the final soldiers in front of him. "All right then," he said, "Men, your fellow brothers in arms are currently being assaulted by the German armed forces. No way are we going to let our lads die by their grubby claws. Now let's go save them." The men cheered and marched after McIntyre as he followed the road to Arnhem, and glory.