If Navarre had nickel for every time Faucheux went in behind enemy lines with a poorly constructed plan, he still, after all these years, wouldn't have a single cent to his name. Nor would he if he'd put the same wager up against the amount of times Dumont didn't volunteer for the dirty work. Navarre trusted them both with his life. Perilloux too, who's incendiary shells not only set the enemies ablaze, but tents and entire outposts, literally burning them to the ground as they'd make our escape back behind Allied lines. Unfortunately, this mission was Perilloux's last... Navarre would never forget that eternal look of panic frozen on his face just before the land mine went off and blew him apart.
It was a terrible way to think, but he doubted that he would have seen the same expression on Faucheux or Dumont if it had been one of them. He himself would probably shit a brick, but not those two. In some ways, he thought they were bred for this type of life. That they enjoyed it. Faucheux, for example, saw it all as one big puzzle to try and figure out. Literally dozens of missions and infiltration ops and each one was carried out with almost computer-like efficiency. As Faucheux himself, stone and completely professional. The only hint of his personal life was a tattoo of some kind of mongoose on his forearm.
Dumont on the other hand, former bouncer, seemed to be concerned with one thing and one thing only: crackin' skulls. Whichever gun was available, he'd use. But as long as he got to drop someone with that ridiculously evil trench bat of his, he soothed whatever strange bloodlust that seemed to be his life-force. Guys like that end up going to prison for being serial killers back home. Here, in war, he's a glorified hero. Damn near a legend. Perspective's change wherever you go, but where Navarre comes from, it was all utterly insane. As long as he kept his head down and did what he had to do, he would survive this long enough to get back to his family.
In the present, Faucheux faced him and placed a hand over his own eyes. Navarre nodded and pulled out an emergency flare, twisted the cap off, and threw it as hard as he could over the wall. Dumont did the same, only a little ways to the right. Faucheux immediately spun around and barked at one of the armored.
"Now!"
A bunker-busting rocket slid from the armored soldier's M1 Bazooka, shot past with blinding speed, and exploded in the heart of the Axis defenses. Sandbags and mutilated gatling guns and Axis infantrymen alike flailed helplessly through the air. That was all the distraction the ichneumon needed to crawl into the jaws of the dragon. Faucheux waved Northridge forward and the tank started rolling in. Peterson, Northridge, and the rest of the armored in attendance covered it with some heavy crossfire aimed at the trenches to the right and the tree line directly ahead.
Faucheux and Dumont were both taking part in the main assault, but Pvt. Branan, the American infantrymen who'd participated in the infiltration op of the Axis ammunition reserve, nudged Navarre and pointed towards the church on the left. No gunfire was coming from there, but no one had cleared it either. Who knew what or whom might by lying in wait, plotting a desperate, last-minute ambush. It would only be too perfect, the entire Allied delegation gunned down from behind by a small handful of hiding jerries. A towering giant brought down by the proverbial snake in the grass.
Navarre and Branan took position outside the church entrance. Navarre readied himself as Branan plucked a British N˚ 69 tactical concussion grenade free from his web gear and finger-counted down from three. Seconds later the canister flew into the room and went off with a resonant phoom! Navarre raised his toggle-action shotgun and moved in. Their were actually four enemies camping inside. It made no difference to Navarre. Not as long as he had that toggle-action. No amount of dust frightens a broom.
The first one was wearing a black gas mask and netted helmet. He took a liberal double dosage of buckshot and flew back into the person standing behind him. As they collapsed in a heap, Navarre pivoted slightly and downed the other two jerries with a single shot. Three shells spent to gain the upper hand, nine more shells waiting patiently in the toggle-action's extended magazine. He showed no mercy. Branan, still standing dutifully outside the door, thought all the blasting sounded like an indoor 4th of July fireworks celebration. Navarre exited the building, reloading, and the two of them regrouped with Faucheux and the others.
La victoire.