June 6, 1944

"Omaha Beach," Sainte-Honorine-des-Pertes, Normandy, Occupied French Republic

All the songs, stories, and legends about war never tell you about the waiting — the agonizing seconds, minutes, days, and weeks before a soldier's meeting with fate.

Arthur (though his friends call him Archie — and don't you forget it) Matthew Marston was a historian's son. Unlike many of his peers, he had no delusions that war had any glory or honor to offer. His father had taught him from a very young age that despite all the preening and preaching of the wealthy and philosophical, war had only one rule and one objective: survive. This lesson was one of the many reasons why Archie didn't enlist after Pearl Harbor. He didn't have a death wish.

But Uncle Sam's claws were as long and sharp as any mighty European lord, and the draft had eventually gone Archie's way. He supposed it was retribution, in a manner of speaking. His father had managed to avoid the Great War. It was only fitting that the next one would claim the eldest son.

1944 was a whirlwind of ships, planes, and rushed training. Archie was fortunate — his father had taught him how to shoot, and a lifetime of living and working on a ranch had put him in tip-top shape for combat. Many of his brothers-in-arms were not so lucky — they had grown up under Blackwater's gleaming streetlights, riding its new, underground subway, with little knowledge of an honest day's work.

Even then, none of them, Archie included, really knew what they were getting into. The 29th Infantry Division hadn't seen a lick of combat, and suddenly they were on the front lines of what their commanders were telling them would be the war's most important battle. Archie still wasn't sure how he felt about Uncle Sam — and now he was supposed to look some stupid kid in the eye and kill him in Sam's name? The whole thing felt absurd, and…

Archie shook his head wildly, cutting off his own train of thought. Overthinking would only get him killed, or worse. He was of the mind of going back to Beecher's Hope and seeing his family again. This…waiting, which led his thoughts and feelings to wander, did him no good. Archie gripped his M1 carbine a little tighter. The waiting would be coming to an end soon, after all.

The plan, or so he was told, was to establish a beachhead a few miles in. The ongoing bombardment was supposed to whittle down the German defenses, allowing the initial wave of infantry and tanks to take out the rest.

Archie still saw lots of German defenses. But they were going in anyway, apparently.

In the end, the line between life and death was much thinner than Archie expected. The German fire started pouring in all at once. Suddenly, Private Cooper, on Archie's left, was shot through the eye, and Private Silverstein, on Archie's right, was missing his small intestine. The killing was so fast and vicious that there wasn't any time for screaming — and the landing vehicle hadn't even made it all the way to the beach yet. The other landships weren't faring much better. The ship in the lead was completely devoid of life, and the ones to Archie's right and left both only had a few survivors clinging to what could only be described as wreckage.

Before Archie could quite register what was happening, he was in the water. He vaguely remembered feeling an explosion close by, but he didn't have time to sort through his thoughts. He needed to breathe. And his pack was weighing him down.

So this was war. Detached limbs, hollow bangs, the occasional cry for mother…and for Archie himself, lungs filling up with water. Fortunately (or unfortunately — Archie would rather drown than be shot apart like his grandfather), his pack was loose, and he was able to swim for air. Private Evans wasn't so lucky. He had been close to freeing himself, but had been shot through the heart just as he was about to finish.

The climb through the water and up to the beach took roughly four minutes, if his watch was any indication, but to Archie, it felt like four hours. Suddenly, he noticed a large rock that he could use for cover. Archie motioned to Private Bancroft, who was coming up behind him, to follow. Perhaps with two men, they could clear out enough machine gunners to allow for a few more landships to reach the beach.

Archie got the rock without issue. He took position, and scanned behind him, searching for Bancroft. He spotted him, and made eye contact, but not for long. Bancroft was holding his left arm in his right, and collapsed on the ground, dead, shortly thereafter.

Archie always liked Bancroft. The two were of a similar age, and had somewhat grown up together, running in the same social circles at school, pining after the same girl. The boy has — had — a good sense of humor, and approached life with joy and inoffensive ambition. Well…none of that mattered anymore.

He looked over the rock, seeing if he could get a quick scan of the German positions before being shot through his head. It was a close call — a bullet whizzed right past Archie's ear, but he got the information he required.

Archie needed to focus. Although the incoming fire had never ceased, there was a little bit more time to scream. And boy, could Uncle Sam's nephews scream. Archie shook his head again, attempting to retain his composure and concentration. What was left of them anyway.

His father had always told him that the best gunslingers, in the heat of battle, could slow the world down. Every movement was in slow motion, and the gunslinger could adequately pinpoint who he wanted to shoot and where, and before whoever you were shooting could react, they were shot through the head. Dead-eye, he had called it. He paled when Archie had asked him if he had that ability.

In any case, Archie hadn't really understood what his father meant then, but he did now. It was almost as if he could place a small x on every German position, and put his shot right on target. The first, he hit twice in the shoulder, and he fell twenty feet to his death. Archie had never killed a man prior to this, but if he wanted to survive, he would have to take several more lives before putting any thought to it.

The second man, Archie hit in the neck, falling backwards immediately upon being shot. Archie was prepared to shoot him again, but he never stood back up. Dead, then. The third, Archie shot through the head, and he fell to the ground, dead, instantly. The fourth, fifth, and sixth men followed similarly. It seemed Archie was getting the hang of this, not that he liked that much.

Largely thanks to Archie and a few snipers, there was a bit more of a clearing now. More landships were landing unobstructed, but the pitfall was now that all the Americans were bunched up in one location. A well-placed missile, or a surprise counterattack would likely decimate their position.

Suddenly — he wasn't sure from who — Archie heard an order to examine one of the cleared German batteries. The fog of war meant that it took a few seconds for him to register that the order was directed at him. Upon realization, Archie nervously sallied forth to investigate the German position he had cleared. There was a nasty surprise waiting for him. The second man who Archie had assumed dead was only mostly dead. And now there was a bullet in Archie's chest.

Everything went black.

Archie had not expected to wake up again, but nevertheless, here he was. He seemed to be in a white room — a hospital, maybe — and he appeared to be sleeping on a white couch. There was a door to the right, also white, and it appeared to be locked. He didn't feel any pain, which was odd considering where he had been shot, but he couldn't be dead, could he?

"That remains to be seen."

Archie looked to his left, and saw what could only be described as a distinguished gentleman. He was dressed in a fine black suit, with a pristine white shirt and a black tie. His top hat was also long, longer than his head really, and his face was marked with a finely-crafted black handlebar mustache. He didn't look like any doctor Archie had ever seen, but he was still oddly familiar in a way…

"I know you. I'm not sure how, but I know you," Archie said plainly.

The Strange Man smiled, his mustache twitching upward slightly. "You're smarter than your grandfather. When faced with my unexpected appearance, he shot at me three times. The fourth shot jammed. Didn't go so well for him, in the end."

Archie sighed, realizing that this was no hospital. Purgatory, then. Lovely. "So you're Death, then? I didn't realize I was special enough to merit a personal appearance."

The Strange Man's smile did not leave his face. "You could say that. All you need to know is that I've been around for a long, long time. But all children of the Earth are entitled to a visit from me. Usually, it's not until the very end. Your family, however, has never been normal."

Archie, sitting upright now, chuckled. "Don't I know it. If this is the end, it's the end, and I'm ready for it. I had a feeling I was going to die the moment I was drafted. I want to live, but I never expected to."

The Strange Man crossed his arms, and gave Archie a pointed look. The mustache's twitching was driving Archie crazy at this point — he had always kept himself clean shaven for a reason. "You and I both know that's a lie, Arthur Marston. You were told you were going to ride the war out in Kansas, you believed them, and now you're here."

"And now I'm here," Archie confirmed, refusing to admit to the lie. He chose to ignore Death's use of his real name. Who was he to tell Death off, after all?

"When your grandfather fired four shots at me, the fourth shot jammed. That jam saved your father's life. The first three bullets ended your grandfather's life, your grandmother's life, and your…uncle's life." The Strange Man paused for a moment. "Your father altered the calculations. He took a life that was not his to take. But revenge is a fool's errand, and he indulged, though he has not indulged since. I have long debated whether I should make him pay the price of his one mistake. Should your life be the price, Arthur Marston?"

Archie's eyes narrowed. "So are sons to pay the price for the sins of their fathers, now? Are our sins not our own? I killed multiple men on the beach. If you insist on taking me, take me for what I've done."

The Strange Man grinned. "War is war. I can't punish a man for an innate fault of the species. What I would really like to know is if you would trade his life for yours?"

Archie paled (could dead men change color?). This was not a question that he ever thought he would have to answer. Archie was barely twenty. He had a whole life ahead of him, and now he might not ever get to live it. He had come to terms with his own mortality rather quickly, but that didn't mean the bitter loss of a future didn't sting.

He wanted to live. He desperately wanted to live. But he also wanted his father to live. His father who had loved him, raised him, and gave him everything. He would not place his own happiness over that of his father, his mother, and his siblings. He had an answer. And he thought he knew what the door was for.

"I'll open the door if you leave my father alone. Until his time comes, of course," Archie said. "I'm the one who got shot."

The Strange Man took a step back. "That's all I needed to hear. I'm tired of your family taking what is rightfully mine, and all I want is for it to end. Stay the course and no consequences shall befall you or your father. Everyone pays for what they've done, but I think your family has paid enough. Live, Arthur Marston. Live and tell the restless dead at your home that the debt has been paid."

Before Archie could respond, everything went black.

When Archie awoke next, it was certainly not painless. In fact, the first thing he registered is a nearly indescribable agony on the right side of his chest.

"Good morning, sunshine. You should have died from blood loss but here we are."

A hospital, then — for real this time. Fantastic. Archie, for some inexplicable reason, decided that now was the right time to try and sit up. The barely-patched hole in his chest told him that was a very bad idea.

"Yeah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. You've got a long way to go before you can do anything again, Marston."

And so it was. Archie was in the field hospital for two weeks. He wasn't even close to well by then, but he was well enough to transport back to the states. He was given a Purple Heart and a medical discharge for his trouble. Archie felt better about the latter — he had absolutely no desire to be anywhere near a war zone again. That said, news of the Allied success at least made him feel like his injury was worth something.

The medical facility in Washington DC wasn't much better than the front, but at least he was home. At that point, he began exchanging letters with his family again. No smart comments or snarky jokes — just genuine relief that he wasn't dead. It was reassuring in a way, but Archie had hoped that his father, if no one else, would've had something sarcastic to say.

Six weeks, three days, seventeen hours, twenty-four minutes, and three seconds after his injury (yes, Archie had been counting — to the best of his ability, anyway), a military transport arrived to take him home to Beecher's Hope.

The ride passed in silence, which Archie didn't object to. After all the noise he had experienced on the battlefield, he wouldn't mind some silence from time to time. Upon arriving home, however, something did surprise him.

For the first time in the history of Beecher's Hope, an American flag flew over the porch. And Jack Marston was standing proudly under it.