All It Takes

June 6, 1944 8 A.M.

Happy Friday!  So today is like a crazy update for me, didn't even realize that until I remembered I need to update this story too.  Well, at least I'm not updating the Collection today.  I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to comment, and vote!

Also, don't forget that all wattpad notifications will be released pretty much through twitter now.  If you still want notifications through wattpad, let me know and I'll try to continue, but it's gotten a lot easier just going and tweeting the news.  But for you guys, I'd be willing to compromise.  :) Happy Friday again.

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He was alone again, his hands clutching the rifle until his knuckles turned white. The field around him was covered in darkness, its silence more terrifying than the distant boom of artillery. Pointed leaves poked at his exposed skin, sometimes hurting, sometimes tickling, but his focus remained on the limited sight and sound he could pick up.

Before, there hadn't been any sense of alarm or fear to go along with the pain, the injury taking full command of his senses and logic. Now though he was used it, and his mind wandered to the reality he had to face. He would most likely be grounded after this, unable to jump, and unable to be a useful paratrooper. When he had signed up as a paratrooper, part of it had been to do something untried and extraordinary, part was the money. Neither seemed so promising anymore, he simply wanted to serve, and now even that was in question, left to the fate of his ankle. Turner would say that he was overthinking the circumstance, but was he?

The sun began to filter through the clouds, slowly replacing the sun up in the sky when he finally began to grow agitated. There wasn't any sign of Turner, and every rustle and boom left him nervous, his hands shaking just enough that it would inevitably affect his accuracy. Cool sweat swelled around his fingers loosening his grip on the rifle, making them slick on the metal. He moved a little in his bush, twisting to get in a more comfortable position, his back leaning on the tree, rifle no longer truly gripped, but splayed in his lap. His head fell back on the trunk of the tree, his eyes searching the sky up above for some clue as to what was expected of him, but nothing came, only sleepiness, which didn't creep up on him, but took him entirely, drowsiness flooding his mind, and closing his eyes.

It was a dreamless sleep, one of darkness and nothingness that hardly held him as he rested in the field, unaware of that around him. A voice in the back of his mind warned him of the action, but somehow it had stopped mattering. Rest sounded so good.

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