My Wretched Homeland

June 6th, 1944

It took hours before the first shot was finally heard throughout the backs of the forest and the fronts of the beaches, as well along the bluffs that lined the numerous trenches that kept our other bunkers safe; and as soon as it was—feet pattered nonetheless towards our enemy,  my own staying put in the somewhat safeplace; but most literally a farmhouse that had been set up for myself; no longer for the rest of my team.

My oberleutnant stayed back for only a few moments, the tough grip of his palm wrapped tightly around my unsuspecting shoulder; something that would send shudders through my spine if I were allowed for that kind of reaction. "We have reports of landing aircrafts and parachutists. Watch your back, Schulze." He whispered directly into my ear, before releasing my shoulder and slamming his palm into my back, forcing me upwards just a little bit. I let a little bit of a laugh out, before giving a quieted response. "Okay. You've got my word, Fischer."

He nodded to me before running after the rest of the Infantry, who were preparing themselves in spots upon MG42 armed and protected trenches, watching what they believed to be approaching aircrafts in the sky.

Should I have been testing my luck as much as I had been? We were deeper in the battle of Normandy, kind of like the second level boss in an uncomfortably too intense card game. Though the sea-borne horizon was in my scope's range, my job was to give my own Infantry the overwatch fire that they needed in a situation as surprising as this one. My eyes stayed hard upon my fellow soldiers as they ran through the windy, cold bluffs, some staying and some closing in on the foremost trenches and the beach, until I no longer could pinpoint each one.

For a while, I remained as calm as I possibly could, the karabin that Fischer had thoughtfully allowed for my usage remaining soft between my fingers, my watch being back and forth between the empty land behind me and the sand scoured beaches ahead of my view.

Just because there was a first shot, doesn't mean it was purposeful—or battle-initiating.

Simply, enough to get us moving.

In case. It was just order, after all.

But, as soon as my squinted eyes could pinpoint something upon those once-empty horizons, I pulled the karabin into my right eyes' best sight, positioning my finger comfortably on the trigger (despite the need to shoot anything), first noticing the heavy amount of naval ships and troops; to which were accompanied by both paratrooper lifts and air force. Well, that was definitely different than the soft humming of the original aircrafts Fischer alerted us of—but I needed to make it known.

I immediately dropped the sniper rifle between my legs and cupped both of my hands around my mouth; reaching the point of my deepest voice before giving my all to shout; "Schiffe am horizont!"

But, i only got to sch.

Before I had a chance to react in any way, my neck had two tannish/brown sleeves wrapped around it, pulling me back from my overwatch standpoint. Within moments, I was forced onto the floor, my chest blowing forward and reacting with dust-full coughs. My eyes pinpointed on the American whatever-class badge, before finally moving them to the eyes staring back at me— my chest heaving as I widened my eyes once again.

Of course, the image refueled the situation with Fischer; the way he humiliated in front of everyone—and though I didn't hate him as much as I hated these American soldiers, it gave me enough fire to fight back.