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Chapter 2: Into the Fire.
-2 months Later-
-The Frontlines-
(Bond's P.O.V)
The truck rattled and bounced along the uneven, rutted dirt road, the bitter chill of the French countryside biting at my face.
I pulled my woolen scarf tighter around my neck, but it did little to stave off the cold.
The air was sharp, tinged with the faint tang of diesel and my arch nemesis- mud. Every breath clouded the night with vapor.
Inside the truck, the low rumble of the engine mixed with the murmured conversations of my new unit.
I sat near the edge of the truck bed, gripping my Lee-Enfield No. 4 Mk I rifle as if it were the last solid thing in the world.
The wood was polished smooth from years of use, and the weight of it was both reassuring and daunting. I had trained with it enough to know it was reliable, accurate, deadly.
Across from me sat Captain Alastair Royce, our commanding officer. Everything about him seemed carved from granite—his square jaw, his piercing blue eyes, the lines etched deep into his face.
Royce had a reputation, one that preceded him even before I joined the unit. Precision, pragmatism, and an almost inhuman calm under fire. The men respected him because they feared him.
To my right, Marcus, the squad sniper, was cleaning his rifle, a scoped Springfield M1903.
His mop of unruly hair stuck out from under his helmet, and he muttered curses under his breath as he worked a damp cloth over the barrel.
Marcus was a man of few words, but he had a sardonic wit that surfaced at the most unexpected moments.
"You look like you're trying to bore a hole through my rifle, Bond." he grunted, not looking up from his task. His thick northern accent made the words sound gruffer than they were.
I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the weapon in his hands.
"Just making sure I know who's got my back," I said evenly.
Marcus snorted, a dry smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry, kid. I'm the best shot you'll ever meet. Long as you don't do something stupid, I'll keep your head on your shoulders."
Evelyn, the medic, rolled her eyes from across the truck. "Ignore him, Bond. Marcus has a talent for scaring off the new recruits. Let's hope you last longer than the last one."
She had soft features and kind eyes, a stark contrast to the grim, hardened faces around her. Yet there was something unshakable about Evelyn, an inner strength that made her just as tough as any of the men.
She carried herself with a quiet confidence that spoke of surviving horrors she rarely mentioned.
"I plan to stick around," I replied, flashing her a quick smile.
The banter was cut short by Royce's voice. "Enough chatter. We're nearing the drop point. Eyes sharp, mouths shut."
The truck slowed to a stop near a dense thicket of trees.
Royce hopped out first, his boots crunching on the frost-bitten ground, and gestured for us to follow.
The night was alive with the faint rustle of wind through the branches, the distant croak of frogs in the marshes.
I adjusted my pack, the straps digging into my shoulders, and stepped into the cold embrace of the French night.
Royce gathered us in a tight circle, pulling a folded map from his coat and illuminating it with a dim flashlight.
"We've got reports of German troop movements near Sainte-Mère," he said, his voice low but commanding. "Our job is to confirm their positions and report back. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. Clear?"
We nodded as one, though my heart was already pounding.
Royce's gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if searching for cracks in my façade. Satisfied, he folded the map and led us into the forest.
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The night seemed darker here, the canopy of trees blocking out what little moonlight there was.
Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot felt amplified, as if the forest itself were conspiring to give us away.
I kept close to Royce, my rifle at the ready, trying to focus on each step rather than the knot tightening in my stomach.
After what felt like an eternity, Royce raised a fist, signaling us to stop.
I dropped into a crouch, peering through the trees.
Ahead, the faint glow of a German encampment flickered in the darkness—a cluster of tents surrounded by a ring of patrolling soldiers.
Their rifles glinted in the light of lanterns hanging from posts, and the low murmur of their voices carried through the still air.
"Marcus," Royce whispered, pointing to a nearby tree. The sniper nodded, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and climbing swiftly, disappearing into the shadows above.
Royce turned to Evelyn and me. "Stay with me. We'll scout the perimeter."
I nodded, swallowing hard as we moved closer.
My boots barely made a sound on the soft forest floor, but my pulse was thunderous in my ears.
Royce moved like a shadow, his movements efficient and deliberate. I tried to mimic him-this was yet another chance to learn. His calm and steady presence anchored me.
We crept along the edge of the clearing, noting the positions of sentries and the gaps in their patrols.
Royce scribbled in his notebook, his hand as steady as if he were writing a grocery list. I felt anything but steady.
A sharp crack split the air behind us—a twig snapping underfoot.
I spun, raising my rifle, and found myself face-to-face with a German soldier.
He froze, his eyes wide with surprise, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His hand went to his belt, reaching for his sidearm.
"Shoot him!" Royce hissed.
The words jolted me into action.
My finger squeezed the trigger, and the crack of the rifle shattered the stillness.
The recoil jolted my shoulder, and the soldier crumpled to the ground, his pistol slipping from his grasp. There was a hole on his forehead.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My hands trembled, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling my nose.
The soldier's face was still imprinted on my mind—young, startled, human. His unfocused eyes seemed to question my choice to take his life...
"Good shot," Royce said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But you've just woken the camp. Move!"
We bolted back into the forest, Royce barking into his radio to alert Marcus and the rest of the team.
Behind us, the German camp erupted into chaos, shouts and the sound of boots pounding on dirt filling the air.
My legs burned as I ran, but I didn't stop, my mind replaying the moment of the kill over and over.
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We regrouped a mile away, hidden in a shallow ravine. Royce called for a headcount, his voice calm despite the chaos we'd narrowly escaped.
"Everyone accounted for?"
Marcus slid down from his perch, a smug grin on his face. "Took out two of their boys on the way here. Didn't even see it coming."
Evelyn shot him a disapproving look before turning her attention to me. "Are you hurt?"
I shook my head, though my hands still trembled. "I'm fine."
"You did well, Bond," Royce said, his tone softer than I expected. "A clean shot under pressure is no small thing."
"Aye, Lad has potential. He put the bullet straight throw the noggin. Good shot." Marcus praised.
I nodded, though the words didn't sink in. My mind was still on the soldier, on the blood pooling beneath him, on the way his eyes had widened in those last moments.
Evelyn placed a hand on my shoulder. "It doesn't get easier," she said quietly. "But you'll learn to carry it."
I didn't respond. I simply stared into the darkness, my resolve hardening. I hadn't come this far to falter. If this was what it took to survive, to prove myself, then so be it.
For the first time, I understood the weight of the path I had chosen. And I would carry it, no matter the cost.