#cod pierson

August 25th, 1944

Paris, Île-de-France, France

“I dunno, LT. Got a bad feeling.”

Luciel shrugged, tugging at the sleeves of the grey uniform. She didn’t know if she should consider herself luckier than Rousseau. On one hand, she’d narrowly avoided the over-starched skirt. But the slacks she’d been provided were far from comfortable. The fabric around her thighs was loose enough it felt like a skirt until it tightened around her knees. Rough cotton rubbing against skin where they tucked into the high polished boots.

“Moore, there’ve been exactly two operations since you stepped off the truck in Sicily that you had a good feeling about.” Luciel countered dryly, leaning back against the wall. “Three, if we count Marigny. But I’m not entirely sure you weren’t just saying that so Ramirez wouldn’t send you back to medical.”

“Hey – I was cleared by medical.”

“That’s not saying much.” Cooper deadpanned shaking his head slowly at the sputtering man. “They needed the beds.”

“Man’s not wrong, Moore.” Ramirez added lazily, not glancing up from the rifle he was cleaning.  “Only reason why you stayed is because LT cleared it.”

Luciel rolled her eyes, lazily cracking her neck as the trio started to bicker back and forth. She was almost looking forward to the garrison now – if nothing else than to get away from the noise. The Resistances’ hideout was far from tiny, but the building was beginning to feel claustrophobic. She wanted to move again. At least when they were at the FOB they could waste time with patrols, but the curfew put into place made that impossible after dark.

“Bishop-.” Their attention drifted to the doorway where the SOE agents stood with Rousseau. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” She quipped dryly, pushing off the wall. “Sooner we get this over with the sooner I can burn this fuckin’ thing.”

Crowley led them back to the alley, gaze flickering back towards them as he ran through their cover stories again. Repetition accompanied by less than subtle warnings about what would happen if something went wrong. Luciel rolled her eyes lightly at the threat, shaking her head slowly as she climbed into the passenger seat. Vivian offered her a quiet laugh, pointedly ignoring the glare Crowley sent their way.

“Our cover stories must be iron-clad.” He warned, causing her to sigh again.

“I haven’t lasted this long in the Rangers because of my sparkling personality, Arhtur.” Luciel deadpanned, turning to glance over her shoulder at him. “I got it.”

“Memorization is another special skill?” Rousseau quipped sarcastically, brow arching as she studied the woman.

“In a matter of speaking.” Luciel shrugged, turning back to the road as Vivian started to pull away from the rest of the team. “Knowing all of the Army’s policies and regulations is what’s kept me in my position this long.”

“I do not understand the correlation… you seem competent.”

The corner of Luciel’s mouth twisted into a lopsided smirk, a quiet laugh huffing past her lips. She would be lying if she said she knew anything about France’s policies and regulations. If she had to guess, she’d have assumed that they weren’t much different than the US and Canada. It would’ve been a recent change, sometime after the last war ended. An effort to bolster their reserves after devastating losses and rebuild.

“Let’s just say, it’s best to understand the red tape well enough that no one can hang you with it.”

Rousseau’s response was cut off by Vivian, a quiet warning whispered under her breath as they pulled up to another blockade. Bodies moving lazily across the road, shadows stretching across the rain slicked pavement as they moved.

“One more checkpoint.” Vivian assured, glancing back at Rousseau as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

Luciel frowned, dark eyes watching as the guards shoved a civilian forward. Harsh orders barked over the rain as the woman stumbled across uneven stones, a terrified glance tossed over her shoulders as two men hauled her spouse across the street between them. It was unclear if they’d already been attacked – but the fear was palpable. Stress tangible as she clutched her hands to her chest to keep from reaching for her husband.

“Nazi thugs.” Crowley grunted under his breath, teeth grinding together audibly.

Heavy hands knocked against the hood of the car, sharp orders echoing over the rain.

“We’re going, we’re going.” Vivian muttered under her breath, forcing a polite smile onto her face as she waved back at the guard.

“Soon… this nightmare will be over.” Rousseau murmured, gaze turning to the penknife clutched in her hands.

“If you’re stopped, your cover story must be iron-clad.”

Luciel sighed; breath exhaled slowly through her nose as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew why Crowley kept bringing it up; he was nervous. For them, for himself, for the mission. Months of work and sacrifice all cumulating in a single operation that hinged on the ability of three individuals to successfully infiltrate the Gestapo’s headquarters. If any one of them were caught it would almost guarantee that the entire operation would fail.

And Rousseau was young. She’d endured the war and kept the resistance alive, but she was young. Someone who had been forced to make impossible choices and lost everything in the aftermath. There was no telling what she’d do when faced with one of the men directly responsible for her agony.

“This is our one chance.” Crowley spoke up again, pulling Luciel from her thoughts. “Recruiting our inside man came at a terrible price. You are to find him and exchange your briefcase with his. Hopefully he’s obtained the explosives we’ll need to blow the gate.”

“You worry too much Major.”

Luciel rolled her eyes, gaze flickering over to Vivian as the woman smirked.

“That’s my job.”

“I’ll meet you in front of the garrison when the operation is complete.” Vivian announced, tossing an arm over the back of the seat as she glanced between the three. “Good luck.”

Luciel’s nose winkled as she stepped into the air, attention drifting towards Crowley as Vivian pulled ahead. He offered a small nod before turning back to Rousseau, expression falling back into a monotone mask as he handed the briefcase over. One final warning passed his lips before he and Luciel began walking towards the checkpoint.

She resisted the urge to frown when the guards caught their eye. One leaning towards his partner with a wry smile twisting across his lips before the officer addressed Crowley in clipped tones. They were better prepared than the Italians had been, three guards standing at each door to the covered alley. Two with rifles held at the ready as the third stood at the small table with calculating eyes.

They had a process in place.

Practiced questions and just enough scrutiny that Luciel almost regretted not finding her own way into the building. But – just like the Italians – they waved her through. Papers placed back in her hand with a polite smile before their attention turned back to Rousseau. Luciel stepped through easily, a lazy question falling from her lips as she and Crowley moved up the stairs. They hovered at the main doors, watching Rousseau converse with the guards out of their peripheral.

“The comms room is on the second floor-.”

“So, the third-.”

“Bishop.”

“Got it, got it.” She rolled her eyes, attention drifting back to the woman still hovering at the guards. “I’m not worried about it – so you shouldn’t be either.”

Rousseau received more skepticism from the men. Curious glances shared between the guards before she parroted her lines with a polite nod. Luciel sighed quietly, head shaking slowly before her attention turned back to Crowley. So far so good. The briefcase was handed over without hesitation, some of the tension bleeding out of the guard before her papers were handed back.

“Now remember, your contact’s name is Fischer; he’s wearing a grey officer’s uniform.”

“Jesus Christ-.” Luciel muttered, ignoring the sharp glare Crowley shot her.

“Tell me the pass phrase.” He continued, gaze turning back to Rousseau.

“Verlaine.”

“Good luck.”

Luciel snorted as Crowley pushed the door open. It was a fight to keep the sarcastic remark behind her teeth, grey eyes rolling lazily towards the back of the man’s head as he made his way across the foyer. Everyone was wearing grey, and most were officers. Shaking her head slowly she glanced back at Rousseau, brows arching as she made her way into the room.

She didn’t need to speak to the guard hovering at the top of the stairs to know they’d closed it to most occupants. She recognized the same masked disinterest that she and the rest of her team had carried when they were relegated to the pointless tasks. They didn’t need a guard to tell people who worked there consistently that the floor was off limits, it would’ve been an expectation for them to know. She’d need to find another staircase or walk around to the other entrance.

She should’ve just taken the fire exit.

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August 27th, 1944 Paris, Île-de-France, France

“Still think it’s bullshit.” Moore deadpanned, eyes rolling heavily when Luciel snorted. “The local Army is already rebuilding, between them and the Resistance I dunno why we gotta waste time on patrol.”

“Brass doesn’t want it to look like we’re sippin’ wine while the Nazis are reinforcing the lines in Belgium.” Luciel drawled blandly, fingers idly tapping against the windowsill. “But hey, thirty minutes and you’ll be back chasin’ skirts with Zussman ‘n the rest of them.”

Cooper laughed, shaking his head slowly when the Corporal rolled his eyes again. Muttered complaints still tumbling past his lips as he turned back to the window. Truthfully, as far as Patrols went, it was hard to beat the Paris cityscape. Lights reflecting off the river and low hanging clouds a sharp contrast to the burned trees and broken farmhouses they’d grown accustomed to.

If someone was able to look past the wreckage of Nazi vehicles and bloodstains across the pavement, they could almost delude themselves into forgetting the war. Almost. The scent of smoke and gunpowder still hung in the air, lingering long after the rains moved on. A subtle tang of rot threatening to escape daker alleys as bodies were cleared from buildings and roads. It tainted the silence that had settled around them, a harrowing reminder of what was waiting for them on the roads to Belgium.

And the war always had a way of reminding them of where they were –

Luciel tossed a glance over her shoulder to Cooper, eyes rolling as the Sergeant barked out a laugh at Moore’s expense. Sawyer grinning widely from the driver’s seat as Moore snapped back with another sarcastic quip. Thinly veiled threats of making his job harder and promises to take a page out of Aiello’s book. Barbs that did nothing but cause the elder man to laugh harder, hand waving across the jeep to try and stop the onslaught.

It all shifted in an instant.

The world tilting on its axis before their vision went white.

Their stomachs twisted, bodies contorting as the vehicle rolled violently to the side. Blunted metal slamming into their sides, glass and dust ghosting across their skin. Heat washing over them as the flames exploded outwards, wrapping around the jeep before it flipped over the railing. They were falling before they fully registered the explosion, hearts leaping into their throat. Warnings barked quickly over the wind before they were pulled beneath fridged waters.

It was getting worse.

For months he’d been left with nothing but the vague memories of gentle hands. Phantom fingers competing with the dull ache of old wounds. An almost nostalgic flicker of peace in the fleeting moments between horror and conflict. He’s grown used to reality; accepted it for what it was. But things were changing –

The dreams were changing.

He could taste the smoke across his tongue, eyes burning as blistering heat seared across his skin. He couldn’t see – blurred shapes and dark splotches blocking his vision. The rain on his face offered little reprieve, a bone deep chill sinking into abused muscles. His ribs ached, lungs protesting every breath pulled through clenched teeth.

A figured dropped down next to him, hands ghosting across his chest to peel the compress away. Clotted blood pulled, a dull hiss passing his lips as he flinched, fingers curling around their arm on instinct before their palm settled over the wound. Something slotted into place beneath his ribs, warmth pooling beneath their hand. The pain faded, as it did every time, aching muscles unspooling slowly.

Unlike the dreams before, the soothing presence lingered.

It was a dizzying comfort. Gentled hands ghosting across his chest as they cleaned and stitched the wound with practiced ease. Indistinguishable words mumbled above him as they worked. It was impossible to hear the words over the ringing in his ears, muffled tones interrupting the echoes of artillery that still lingered at the edge of his mind.

Aching bones sagged further against the cot, tension bleeding out of his frame as they worked. Muddled thoughts latching onto the buzzing warmth that continued to coil beneath his ribs. He felt the brand hooking into the skin, numbing the pain as they began to stitch the wound closed. The scent of familiar flowers filled his lungs, overshadowing the blood and smoke lingering around the field.

He could almost picture the string slipping beneath the surface, lazily winding between his ribs until it anchored in his chest. It was difficult to remember if he’d noticed the thread before, fingers absentmindedly flexing against the cot at the urge to wind the string around his palm. Above him the figure shifted again, palm shifting to rest against the side of his jaw.

They mumbled something again, quiet assurances passing their lips before their other hand peeled the cooling rag slowly away from his eyes. He winced as the air stung inflamed skin, blinking to try and clear his vision as they leaned over him again. Thumb ghosting across his cheek to brush soot away, agitation slowly bleeding into their words as they grabbed something from the medical kit.

It was an unconscious decision.

Arm moving before he registered the action, hand settling over theirs against the side of his face. The mark warmed, skin buzzing before competing emotions rolled over him. Calm contorting into something else, anxiety flickering beneath the surface. The guilt was back again – something bitter and angry flaring to life beneath his ribs. A quiet uncertainty that bordered on fear that was quickly swallowed by a dull and unflinching irritation.

It took more time than he’d like to admit to recognize that the emotions weren’t his own.

Suddenly he was falling.

Body tumbling backwards, the soothing presence ripped violently from him leaving an unsettling loss in its wake. The anxiety remained. Stomach flipping as the world around him spun. Waves of heat washing over him before a bone deep chill carved its way into the flesh. His heart climbed into his throat; jaw clenching as he ground his teeth together. Agitation boiling over into aggression as he fought to find his footing. His ribs felt tight; throat raw as he tried to catch his breath –

He couldn’t breathe –

The world around him was muted. His chest constricted, lungs burning as he tried to force air into them. Panic was beginning to claw at his throat, hands thrashing against the restraints as he tried to put distance between himself and the ache in his spine. Lights flickered overhead, blurred images shimmering amidst the clouds of dark swirling around him.

It was so cold –

His limbs felt heavy, muscles straining against the drag as he clawed his way forward. There was a lingering desperation simmering at the back of his thoughts. Mind racing as he continued to force his way through the oppressive current. Clothes pulling uncomfortably across his skin, shirt collar tightening around his throat. The realization crashed into him violently.

Blood pounding in his ears, heartbeat knocking against his skull as his ribs ached. Desperation and panic threatening to overshadow anger again. All at one it made sense, the new reality knocking the world on its axis again –

          He was drowning –

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June 5th, 1944, 17:00 Calvados, Normandy, France

Thunder rumbled overhead.

Lightning flaring overhead, blinding arcs cutting through the clouds bathing the ships in light. She could barely see the cliffs across the water, heavy sheets of rain obscuring the shoreline. Inhaling slowly she leaned back against the wall, head rolling back as she closed her eyes. The howling winds were grounding in a way, the bond deep chill reassuring in a way the stuff hallways and crowded barracks weren’t.

She still hated the carriers.

She loathed the windowless rooms and cramped hallways, it was suffocating. Anxiety buzzing beneath the surface every time she was forced to step into the winding hallways. The sight of watertight doors still caused her stomach to twist. Screams echoing at the back of her thoughts, nerves stretched too thin as the smell of burning oil filled her lungs. Dim lights and moving shadows danced in her peripheral, memories of twisted figures and hollow eyes lurking at the edge –

The storm picked up again.

Thunder reverberating through her bones. Lightning screaming as it struck the roof of one of the structures at the edge of the cliffs. Blinding white painting the wind battered stone before it was swallowed again by the storm. Another slow breath past her lips, fingers tapping idly against her arm in familiar patterns. Dark eyes flickered across the churning water, each cresting wave a dull reminder – they weren’t in Hawaii.

Her thoughts shifted again.

The weather had changed in a matter of hours. What started as rain and churning waves quickly spiraling into a torrential downpour and roaring winds. As the storm raged on it became nearly impossible to see the other carriers. Cresting waves growing more violent until even the larger ships began to rock from the force.

It was a blessing as much as it was a curse.

There was no way that they’d have been able to launch the Higgins boats, let alone ferry the troops to the beaches. The postponement did little to ease the mounting anxiety, brows pinched together as she watched lights flicker through the storm. It gave them a few more hours of rest – but they were still preparing to jump into the fire. The Nazis had time to fortify the beaches and there was no telling what fresh horrors were waiting for them across the water.

It’ll be just like Gela. She tried to assure herself, frown sinking deeper across her features. Except this one was bigger. The beaches were littered with razor wire and anti-tank spikes. The cliffs above the beach were heavily fortified and defended by machineguns and heavy artillery. There was no telling what else waited for them in the bunkers.

And Rob was here –

“It’ll be fine.” A voice announced, pulling her attention from the roaring waves. “Well, as fine as it can be.”

“That… almost sounded optimistic…” She announced slowly, nose wrinkling as she studied his face. “Who’re you ‘n what’d you do with Pierson?”

“You’re hilarious.” He scoffed, leaning back against the wall next to her.

She huffed quietly to herself, attention drifting back to the howling storm. The silence stretched on between them, words forming just to remain trapped at the back of their teeth. In a matter of hours Pierson would be leaving for the beaches alongside tens of thousands of others. Each one silently praying that they’d make it to the next sunrise, no one willing to dwell on the cold reality that awaited them.

“You know which Platoon he’s with?” He questioned, gaze flickering down to study her face.

“No.” She shrugged, arm knocking against his as she dragged a hand down the side of her face. “He doesn’t tell me much about his battalion – let alone his platoon. Even gave his squadmates shitty nicknames too…”

“Kid afraid you’re gonna meddle?”

“I don’t know if meddle is the right word.” She knocked her shoulder into his arm when he snorted, mockingly offended glare turning towards him. “Apparently his platoon sergeant is an asshole… He doesn’t want me or my opinions to make it back to them.”

“That really narrows it down.” He quipped dryly.

“That was probably his plan.”

Pierson rolled his eyes, shoulder lazily bumping against hers again, lips pulling into a smirk when she swatted back at him with a huff. Despite his assurances – her brother’s best chance at surviving the advance was to be in one of the last waves to arrive on the beach. After they’d already taken the bunkers. But he wouldn’t voice the thought aloud; it was clear from the look in her eye where her mind was going.

“It’s gonna be worse than Gela, isn’t it?”

The words were dull as they fell from her lips, a quiet, tired, acceptance lingering just beneath the surface. It wasn’t a question – not really. They’d seen too much since they stepped onto the boat for Africa. They knew what to expect, and that was part of the problem. It was hard to be optimistic when faced with the overwhelming knowledge of what the enemy was capable of.

He wasn’t sure how to respond. Didn’t know how to ease the obvious fears and anxieties, didn’t want to lie or say something he’d regret. It was going to be bad. It was impossible for it not to with the fortifications on the beach. There was no telling how many they’d lose – more than Gela. It had to be. More bodies on fewer beaches with an unknown number of guns lining the cliffs.

Some wouldn’t even make it off the boats.

In the same breath there was a small part of him that was numb to the threat. A quiet voice at the back of his head that knew they’d make it, that they had to. They’d survived Kasserine and Gela, so what was one more catastrophe? It was just another day, another mission. Another trip through the meat grinder they’d been tasked with dismantling.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t dread the looming advance. That he was worried for the men he and Turner would be leading into the fire. But the fear didn’t extend to him the same way. He never dwelled on the feeling, never bothered to put a name to the quiet whispers and out of place indifference. It lingered all the same. A quiet acceptance of the tasks ahead, an unspoken understanding that as horrible as it would be he’d endure. That the fates wouldn’t strike him down until he’d paid for the sins he’d committed –

“You figure out where you’re being assigned?”

Eleanor snorted, heavy sigh escaping her lungs while her attention drifted back to the waters again. Head knocking softly against the wall of the ship, hands shoved lazily into her jacket pockets.

“You’re deflecting… But I’ll allow it.” She deadpanned dryly, ignoring the sarcastic scoff. “I volunteered for the first wave. I’ll be shipping out once you guys clear the bunkers.”

He stared down at her with an exasperated glare. He’d been expecting the answer, she’d mentioned her plan more than once after they’d stepped onto the ship. What he hadn’t expected was for the Brass to agree to it. She caught the glare in her peripheral, rolling her eyes with a huff before her shoulder knocked against his again.

“Dunno why you’re lookin’ at me like that.” She did. And they both knew it. “Someone has gotta make sure you and your herd of cats didn’t get too banged up.”

“Half the Navy is on standby.” He grunted, rolling his eyes when she scoffed. “No reason for you to be running around until the Krauts retreat.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re the ones coordinating with them-.”

She cut herself off with a curse as he stepped away from the wall, the support she’d been leaning on suddenly disappearing sending her stumbling to the side. Hands flailing before they curled around his arm to catch her balance. Sharp glare snapping to the smug smirk stretching across his lips.

“You’re an asshole.” She deadpanned, swatting at him again when he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t you have ducks to go line up or something?”

“Not yet.” Pierson pushed the door open, sarcastically waving her through the doorway. “Turner and I are running through the objectives again before Davis’s speech.”

“Forgot about the speech.” She muttered under her breath. “Why is there always a speech? Isn’t the war bad enough?”

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July 26th, 1944 Marigny, France

“There they go…”

Dull eyes flickered towards the familiar mass of uniforms rushing along the courtyard perimeter. Pierson was nothing if not punctual – neatly coordinated soldiers rushing between objectives. Narrowly avoiding enemy fire while advancing steadily further, returning fire with more accuracy than she had expected from a team of rookies.

Then again – they’d been in the thick of it for almost two months now.

“Nice of them to join the party…” She sighed, gaze turning back to her target. “Was beginning to worry they got lost.”

The enemy had spent the night preparing for them.

Hundreds of bodies rushing to fortify doorways and block off roads. Rolls of razor wire stretched across barricades and street signs. Overturned tables blocking off staircases and hallways. The occasional tripwire rigged to a directional mine tucked into a corner.

But it wouldn’t be enough to save them.

By the end of the afternoon the infantry will have disabled the AA guns, and from there they’d retake the square. By the end of the week, they’d control the town – if the German defense had any tactical sense they’d pull back by nightfall. But the Rangers were prepared to go door to door to remove the threat if they had to.

Losing Marigny was not an option.

Luciel exhaled slowly; muscles relaxing as her rifle followed the path of another truck. The air stilled in her chest, tension easing from her before her finger curled around the trigger. She barely registered the kickback of the rifle, brows furrowing before she watched the vehicle erupt into flames. Another round meeting its mark, bullet lodged in the fuel tank.

“Halftrack inbound – road North of the church.” Moore announced, stress bleeding into his words. “They’re trying to cut the team off –.”

They wouldn’t make it.

Luceil’s attention drifted, brows pinching together as she locked in on the driver. Frown carving across her lips as the halftrack crashed through the roadblock. Crimson sprayed from the track; the mangled remains of a man unlucky enough to be caught under the vehicle’s tread. Limbs tangling in the gears before being crushed beneath rusting machinery.

It was impossible to tell which side the victim belonged too.

Inaudible curses fell from her lips, barrel following the vehicle’s path as it rattled across the streets below. The first shot ricocheted off the armor, sparks flaring to life pulling the gunner’s attention. Luciel frowned; another slow breath forced through her nose as she focused on the driver. She tried not to think of the irritation building at the back of her thoughts, tension twisting across her shoulders.

The second round met its mark.

Red painting the windshield before her attention turned to the gunner. Another pull of the trigger, crimson mist spraying into the air before the body crumpled. The MG rattled violently, arching through the air before chewing into the brick beneath their position. It was too close – a new line carved into stone as the gun spun out of control. The onslaught halted as the body crumpled to the floor, viscera pooling against tan metal.

Something buzzed beneath the skin, tension slowly winding across her shoulders as she felt eyes on her. Slate grey clashing with brown from across the courtyard, Pierson’s frown evident even without the scope. A frown of her own pulled across her lips, nose wrinkling as she resisted the urge to flip the man off. Huffing under her breath she turned her attention away, brow pinching together as she lined up another shot.

Pierson’s teams were efficient.

Though it felt as if they had alerted every German soldier in town of their position.

They moved in tight groups between walls and burning vehicles, close enough to easily support one another without making themselves an easy target. Two men ready to lay down suppressive fire while the 3rd moved from cover to cover. Despite the danger, they dragged downed men back behind walls and into alleys. Moving the injured out of harm’s way while others hurriedly tried to stop the bleeding. For all of the Sergeant’s snapping and snarling – he knew what he was doing.

It didn’t take long for them to stack up outside of the church, quick orders passed between them before the door was kicked down. Luciel watched them move out of her peripheral, focus shifting between another vehicle careening through the alleys across from them.

“When they’re clear – we’ll need to move to the next position.”

“Got it.”

By the time they settled into the new position the Infantry had already cleared the church. A frown carving itself across her lips as she watched the door swing open briefly, a familiar face she couldn’t name appearing before they stepped back into the church. The scream of a downed plane drowning all other sounds before it crashed into the courtyard between them and the church.

She could feel the reverberations in her bones.

The scent of burning fuel and metal heavy across her tongue. Dark eyes snapped back to the church doors as half of Pierson’s team charged into the chaos. Moore cursed violently under his breath, hurriedly lining up covering fire as the men rushed across splintered cobblestone. Luciel’s attention snapped to the windows, brows pinching together as Pierson charged up the stairs to the tower.

He was setting up an overwatch of his own.

“The objective was to take the church!” Moore snapped, eyes flickering towards her. “Why the hell are they splitting up?”

Luciel let out a slow breath, cheek resting against the stock of her rifle as she watched a shadow move in a dark room across from the church. She ignored the anger simmering beneath the question, focus trained on the soldier as they stepped too close to the window. The shot was enough to pull Moore’s attention back to the battle below, another curse bitten between clenched teeth.

“The objective was to take the tower and set up overwatch.” Luciel supplied slowly, gaze flickering up to the crumbling bell tower as a familiar figured settled at the ledge. “No where in that statement did it specify that it would be the entire team, and the pilots cannot wait for Turner’s team.”

Grey clashed with brown before her attention turned back to the swarming soldiers below. She didn’t need to agree with Pierson’s methods to understand what was fueling them. In this moment – they couldn’t wait for Turner. They were losing too many planes to the flak guns. They had to move ahead.

She wasn’t sure just how much of the Corporal’s bitter views had been painted by stories of Kasserine. She knew the Sergeant’s impromptu interrogation before they left the Farm had been part of if – he’d developed a strong friendship with the young Infantryman during their time on the carrier. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Zussman had shared more than one story that further cemented the Corporal’s dim view of Pierson.

But it didn’t matter – not here.

Moore didn’t need to like the decision to make it to be the right one. It was no riskier than any of the missions they’d carried out up to this point. At the same time, she couldn’t fault him for the agitation. It was natural to fall back into anger and frustration – especially out here.

Movement past the courtyard drew her attention, lips curling as she spotted Rameriz’s familiar frame moving through the dust. The rest of the team rushing through the smoke to reinforce the line Zussman’s team had attempted to form. They had started to push further up the road, slowly carving a way through the advancing forces towards the final Flak gun. More shouts echoing from an alley as Turner arrived with the rest of the Platoon.

It was only a matter of time before –

Something twisted beneath her ribs.

A sudden flash of anxiety flaring so violently it knocked the air from her lungs. Her free hand fisted in her uniform, fingers curling into the grit covered canvas as she forced air back into her lungs. The anxiety contorted beneath the surface, something colder settling uneasily in her gut until her stomach churned. Heart pounding against her skull.

Something was wrong –

Wide eyes turned back to the tower subconsciously, skin crawling as she watched Pierson’s team scramble back towards the ladder. Vaguely – she’d heard them over the roaring guns. Words lost to the wind before they’d started to move, the unusual urgency causing her teeth to grind together nervously. Pierson doesn’t run –

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@tacticallysalted, @thesharpestspoon, @noodlereader, @oneunluckybadger

August 20th, 1944 Falaise, France.

“Bravo identified some stragglers hanging out a few klicks South of town.” Rameriz announced, idly rolling his lighter between his palms. “But the Brits should clean them up on their way through.”

“We’ll keep an eye on it in the meantime.” Luciel sighed, scratching the back of her neck. “Last thing we need is them thinking there’s an opening to push back through.”

It had taken three weeks to push the German forces back – a week alone just to clear the Falaise pocket. She didn’t want to risk the enemy finding another foothold to attempt to retake the city. It was bad enough that they still had access to the railway through Argentan. Not that they’d keep it for long – if the 5th Armored had anything to say about it.

With any luck by the end of the week they’d be in Paris.

“We’ll keep the same rotation,” she continued absentmindedly. “There’s a medical evac comin’ through tomorrow, let’s ensure there’s nothin’ waiting for them-.”

“Bishop-.” Hoyle hovered just outside of the tent; frown firmly set in place. “Wrap it up here – we’re reassigning you for the next op.”

“What?” The two officers shared a look over the top of Luciel’s head, brows pinched together. “Cap-.”

“I didn’t ask the peanut gallery.” Hoyle sighed, hand dragging down the side of his face. “For now – just need Bishop on this.”

“And what is this?”

It was a dry request. One that had Hoyle turning back towards her again with a deadpanned look, annoyance flickering behind his eyes before he sighed. Fingers grinding against the bridge of his nose.

“He didn’t specify.” He grunted, nodding back towards the command tent. “The Resistance sent over some intel, something actionable. So, he’s settin’ up a new operation.”

“New operation with shoestring resources I’d imagine.” She sighed, rolling her neck with a sigh of her own.

They’d been run ragged ever since they stepped off the boat, but it felt like they’d been stretched thinner and thinner since they left Marigny. Anytime they had armored support it would be diverted to reinforce a different line. It was a fight to get anything from Command. It always ended the same; the Rangers and the Infantry running in circles to support each other.

And the fact it kept working didn’t help their case.

“Hand whatever you can’t tie off to Cooper ‘n meet me in Command 1… Rameriz – you’re on standby. Got a feelin’ Davis is gonna request you too.”

“Lucky you-.”

“Knock it off.”

Rameriz shook his head slowly, shooting Cooper another glance as Hoyle turned and headed back to the Command tents. They’d expected something to come up from the moment they received word that the Colonel was enroute. They just hadn’t expected to be directly involved – not so early. The last few missions that Davis had involved them in had been last minute.

It must’ve been significant if they were being pulled in alongside 1st Platoon.

“I don’t like it.” Rameriz deadpanned.

“You don’t like most things.” Luciel countered, sliding a clipboard to Cooper.

“Said the kettle to the pot.”

“Get Moore and Sawyer filled in on what to expect.” She ignored the barb, already stepping back into the sun. “I’d imagine this is going to involve them at some point.”

By the time she’d crossed the FOB Hoyles was standing alone in the tent. Brows pinched together as he stared down at the crude attempt of a scale model. Whatever intel Davis had mentioned was notably missing from the desks, little more than scratch titles spread out to identify landmarks.

“We’re going to rob a fucking train.” Hoyle muttered under his breath, dull incredulousness dripping from his words. “How the fuck are we gonna do that?”

“Well… There was that one tank in Sicily-.”

“Of course that was one of yours.”

“It was actually Rameriz’s idea, I just supervised.”

She pointedly ignored the look he shot her way, leaning back against one of the crates as she studied the town in front of her. Robbing a train. She scoffed under her breath, hand dragging slowly down the back of her neck. It wasn’t impossible – but she doubted they had much time to plan.

If any.

The sound of Davis’s voice drew their attention towards the path leading up the hill where the Colonel was approaching with Turner and Pierson following behind. Luciel’s brow arched, catching Hoyle’s exasperated curse before he buried the irritation back beneath the professional mask. They didn’t need to know the specifics anymore – they knew anything out of the Colonel’s mouth now would just be a headache.

“We’ve received intelligence from the Resistance,” the Colonel began as he stepped under the awning, “about a German train carrying V2 rockets for an attack on Paris refueling near Argentan. That gives our team just enough time to move into position. It must be stopped.”

Luciel resisted the urge to snort, dull eyes snagging on Turner’s as he stepped up next to her, Pierson hovering across the table on Davis’s other side. They all knew what was happening – it was the same thing that happened in Carentan and Marigny. They’d be sent in with just Turner’s platoon and squad of Rangers.

Judging by the look on Hoyle’s face she wasn’t even sure if they’d be sending a full squad.

“You proved yourselves in Marigny, which is why you’ll get the opportunity and privilege.”

Luciel covered the sneer with a frown, nose wrinkling as she rolled her eyes at the notion. Privilege – as if they were being released on Leave and not being sent to rob a Nazi supply train. There was no way they’d send it unarmed – every station between Argentan and Paris would be protected in some capacity. They’d lost too much ground to the West – they knew the train would be targeted.

“Thank you, sir.” Turner started slowly, pulling her from her thoughts. “But this seems like a job for more than one platoon.”

“That’s why I’m teaming you up with the SOE.”

Oh, that’s why –

A horn blared, pulling their attention to a small convoy speeding towards them. She didn’t catch Davis’s remarks before they started walking towards the jeeps, shooting Hoyle a look as she fell in step behind Pierson. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Davis had planned their entrance. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, frown carving across her lips as she spotted the approaching agents.

“It looks like you two caught a bit of it.”

Turner wasn’t wrong – she could see new bullet holes and scorch marks lining the doors of the jeep. It was another harsh reminder that despite the weeks spent clearing the French countryside – there were still enough Nazi outposts to cause problems. It also meant that they were likely to face significant resistance before they reached the station.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant.” A familiar voice drawled, humor dripping from his words. “We saved some for you.”

Her attention drifted back to the agent as Pierson shook their hand before moving to lean against the jeep across from them. Despite the clear signs of resistance – both agents looked uninjured. Uniforms as clean as could be expected so close to the frontlines, free of blood and obvious injuries.

It was almost enough to convince her it would be another training run.

“Luciel – glad to see you in one piece.” Crowley took her hand with a smile, “Heard rumors you ran into trouble in Sicily.”

“No more than anyone else.” She countered, pointedly ignoring the surprised looks of the other officers.

Pierson’s brows furrowed, gaze shifting between the officers across from him before settling on Turner. Hoyle was surprised – openly staring down at Luciel with a confused expression, question snagging at the back of his teeth as the woman ignored him. Turner didn’t look surprised – a little confused by the apparently casual conversation between Luciel and Crowley but far from Hoyle’s surprise.

“Agents Vivian and Crowley will lead the operation.” Davis announced, interrupting the questions before they could voice them. “They’ve been working with the Resistance for months and know the terrain well. You’ll defer to them. Since Bishop has worked with them previously – she’ll take point for the Rangers.”

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23:30 June 5th, 1944

Normandy, France

Severe weather.

The largest amphibious assault in history; delayed because of a storm.

160,000 troops spread across hundreds of ships and carriers, unable to take the leap into the whitecapped waters because of wind and rain. Aircraft unable to complete their bombing runs because of the cloud cover. Staring out at the raging waves and torrential rains it wasn’t a surprise that the Brass had postponed the assault. The odds of the Higgins Boats even making it to the beaches on water like that was slim.

And that wasn’t accounting for the MG nests carved into the cliffs.

Grey eyes watched as lightning illuminated the beaches, the occasional glow of a lamp somewhere in the bunkers breaking through the sheets of rain. The world felt subdued despite the storm. The tense silence that always lingered before an attack. Hundreds of thousands of men and women holding their breath before the leap. Some busying themselves with quiet conversations and card games while others tried to catch whatever sleep they could.

Others simply waited.

“Not too late for you to switch to medical.” A voice announced, familiar frame dropping back against the wall next to her, shoulder knocking against hers as they watched the storm rage from under of the awning. “Won’t have to climb a cliff if you do.”

“Cooper’d probably end up on the wrong beach if I did that.” She countered blandly, tired eyes rolling towards the unamused Lieutenant. “Y’know the man couldn’t navigate his way out of a wet paper sack without me, Joe.”

Turner scoffed under his breath, amused smirk pulling at his lips before they pulled back into a frown. They both knew what was coming. They’d seen it before in Kasserine and Sicily. Though, admittedly, this operation was better planned. There was no question as to the numbers they were facing, and unlike Kasserine they had seasoned Generals at the helm. Thousands of planes and ships to support the onslaught. Cannons and firing runs to soften the defenses.

It would be different this time.

“How’re the kids holdin’ up?” Her lips pulled back into a lopsided smirk, watching as the man heaved a sigh in her peripheral. “That good, huh?”

“They’ll do okay.” He affirmed, brows pinching together as his thoughts wondered. A subtle nod to himself before he glanced back at her again. “It’ll be hard, but I think they’ll do okay… They’re nervous… but hiding it as well as can be expected.”

“If they weren’t they’d either be crazy or lyin’.” She huffed, “They’ll probably find their footing by July.”

If they survive that long.

It was an intrusive thought; one they wouldn’t say aloud. A silent, morbid truth that lingered beneath the jokes and bravado. While they had tens of thousands of planes and ships at their back, they were still staring down the barrel of the German defenses. Men that had months to fortify the French coast, lining cliffs with guns and beaches with razor wire and landmines.

It wasn’t a matter of whether they would be able to take the beaches. They had the numbers on their side, but there was no telling how many they’d lose in the process. The boats would be fired upon the moment they came into range. Those lucky enough to make it to the beaches would still have to make it to the seawall and trenches under direct fire from the MG nests. Then it was a close quarter fight through the bunkers.

The Rangers wouldn’t be any better off.

If they were lucky, they’d be able to make it across the open water without being seen, then it was a climb straight up the cliff face to capture Pointe du Hoc. If successful they’d be able to cut off communication and disable the 155s guns. Then it would just be a matter of holding the position until the beaches changed hands.

But they’d made it this far.

“Bishop!” A voice echoed from the hallway, pulling their attention to the approaching sergeant. “There you are! Come on – Colonel says we’re preppin’ to jump. Weather is clearin’.”

“Got it, I’ll meet you on deck.”

The man was already turning back into the ship before the words left her lips.

“Don’t be late – Smith’ll never let it go.”

The pair watched him go for a moment, head shaking before they pushed off the wall and headed back into the ship. A quiet tension settled between them, minds racing as they ran through their respective lists. After this they wouldn’t cross paths again until the allied forces controlled the beachhead. Whether it would be hours or days – they weren’t sure.

“Well…” She drawled slowly, shouldering her pack. “Good luck with the rookies.”

“We’ll get ‘em through…” Turner affirmed, ignoring the chill that had started to climb along his spine. “Pierson ‘n I’ll get them through.”

“Yeah, with him barkin’ at their heel’s it’ll be hard not to make it across the beach.” She joked lazily, subtle grin stretching across her features when he turned a glare towards her. “Just don’t trip, Joe.”

“Just don’t fall, Lucy.” He countered, “I’d hate to have to have the boys scraping you off the rocks.”

“Hilarious.” A deadpanned scoff. “I didn’t know humor was in the Bloody First’s training regimen…”

The plunge into conflict was just as jarring as it had always been.

The world around them blurred as time seemed to twist along with the storm. Sharp orders overshadowed by screaming winds and roaring guns. One violent moment bleeding into another until they were thrown into the raging waters at the base of the cliffs. The brutal currents pulling them beneath the overturned boats threatening to drag them back to sea. The orange blooms of explosions and gunfire above guiding them upwards.

It felt like Kasserine.

Soaked clothes pulled at their skin as they fought against the currents to the cliffs, a bone deep chill cutting through their flesh until they felt it in the marrow. Their lungs burning as they forced air past clenched teeth, eyes burning from the saltwater still clinging to their lashes. Muscles screamed as they dragged their battered bodies up the rock face, joints protesting every move as they climbed.

It was experience that drove them forward.

Silent signals shared between teammates as they readied for the real fight. The world taking another breath before they were plunged back into the violence. They could smell the bunkers now, gun smoke and mold overshadowed by the sea and stone. The violent flash of the MG nests lighting concrete walls, shadows moving behind with anxious steps.

The gunners hadn’t been prepared for someone to breach the bunker.

Panicked shouts echoing down the hall as they fired through the windows. The scent of blood clogging their lungs as they pushed into the bunkers. Minutes bled into hours. Flashing muzzles and blooming incendiary rounds burned into the back of their eyes. Skin burning beneath the roaring heat of near misses with flamethrowers and grenades.

They pushed through the unconscious twist in their gut, heavy boots knocking against blood soaked concrete. The halls were painted red and black, a macabre reminder of the darker sides of human conflict. Blood and soot clinging to sea battered walls, the wind dragging the nauseating scent of charred flesh and burned hair as they advanced.

Beneath the chaos and carnage, it had gone to plan.

They’d breached the fortifications and pushed the enemy back.

“Guns are gone – repeat! Guns are gone!”

But there were complications.

“How the fuck did they move them?!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Luciel snapped, “Eyes up! Cooper – circle around ‘n push ahead!”

They didn’t have time to worry about the empty casements. The retreating enemy had given them a new target – muzzles flashes visible through the woods. The 155s had been moved – but they found the field artillery. Unlike the men in the bunkers, the artillery team had been caught off guard. Panicked shouts and barked orders drowned beneath gunfire before blood began to soak into the grass and mud.

“Enemy moving-!”

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@tacticallysalted, @noodlereader