𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; band of brothers ✔

PART TWENTY THREE

"Okay." He dropped his hands from my face, clearing his throat softly. "Okay."

I watched him as he sifted through his thoughts, determining how to carry out the plan. His gaze focused on the ground, he swallowed a lump.

"What the fuck is this? Who put this here?!" He yelled. "Soldier, did you do this? Where the fuck is your commanding officer?!"

The sound of boots meeting the concrete ground neared; it had worked. He glanced at me, his white t-shirt contrasting his dirt-forsaken cheekbones. I looked over his shoulder, our target close to turning the corner.

Joe launched himself at the German soldier, the poor boy almost throwing his rifle into the air like an instinct. Together, they rolled around, wrestling one another, Joe's arm locked around his victim's neck. I grabbed the rifle, cocking open the handle to load it. A few shots landed just above Liebgott's head, originating from down the hallway.

"Shoot him!" Joe screamed, his forearm pulsing - it was his left, and therefore his weakest, unable to use his right due to the damage to his armpit. 

Everything shaking, I narrowly aimed the rifle at his opponent, releasing a shot into the boy's hip. He began to toss and turn, trying to get out of the headlock. More rounds came from around the corner. Cocking the rifle again, I took another shot, only for it to jam.

Joe tore his arm away, only to seize the sidearm on the German's bleeding hip, and burst a few rounds into the boy's head. The body fell backwards as Liebgott staggered to his feet, just as a shot planted itself in his left calf. Collapsing onto the floor, the sidearm slid across the ground; a revolver, stolen from an American officer. Footsteps sprinted forward.

Unable to think twice, I ran for the revolver, bringing it up to my eye level as I had been trained to. As soon as the soldier emerged, I pulled the trigger. Once, then again, and once more, terrified that he would revive himself. Dropping the sidearm, I crashed onto my knees, patting down Joe's soldiers and begging for him to be okay.

His hands covered my ears, "I'm all right. You're all right?"

For the first time in a long, long while, I smiled. Muffled bursts of voices grew closer, alerted by the gunshots. He pushed himself off of the ground, cursing as he put pressure on his wounded armpit and leg.

"Okay." He attempted to step forward. "Hand me that rifle."

I obeyed, picking it up and passing it over. He slung it over his shoulder, and began to hobble towards the door previously guarded by two soldiers.

"Stop right there!" - followed by a few shots flying over our heads.

I whipped around, recognising the voice out of no-where. A group of officers were making their way towards us, led by Captain Lehmann and his minions. Intuitively, Joe brought up the rifle, leaning it into his gashed shoulder.

That's him.

A hole drilled into the centre of the Captain's forehead, and he crumpled to the floor. Joe snatched my hand, dragging us away.

Outside, inches of snow blanketed the countryside, the sky dark yet lightening with the anticipation of dawn. An alarm of somekind set off from behind us, and we ran for the nearest wood block. After a couple of seconds, we crashed into what appeared to be an old foxhole, something from a conflict long gone.

"Stay low," He peered his head over the foxhole, aiming the rifle wherever his eyes looked.

I leant against the cold dirt, my breaths rapid as my heart beated even faster. Joe backed down, sitting next to me.