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At first, Damien thought of home. He wondered if his mom was okay. He hope him leaving didn't cause her to start drinking again. He hoped that his father was able to keep her out of the bottles. What about Alice? What would she be doing tonight? Could she be writing to Damien right now? Does she even know he is about to step out onto the front lines? He didn't know, but he wanted to.

The town was like a ghost town. Homes abandoned, streets emptied, rubble scattered everywhere. The smell of smoke filled the air and the sound of bullets and explosions shook the crumbling walls and the street. Damien passed a few shops on his walk into the city. One in particular stuck with him. Inside was a doll and a collection of baby goods. It reminded him about his talk with the stranger in the back of the truck. He looked around to see if he could find the unknown soldier from the truck, but he was not there, or at least not in Damien's immediate field of view. He continued down the street, trying to keep pace with the rest of his squad. Damien found Micah running up to his side. They looked at each other but no one spoke. They knew combat was not far away. The gun fire was getting louder with each step down the bullet-riddled road. The occasional blood stain on the ground or the wall made, not just Damien, but all the soldiers feel even more uneasy. It was only natural.

A sudden blast knocked Damien off his feet. He stumbled to the ground. His head pounded, it felt like a dream. He thought he was dead for sure. He rolled over slowly, expecting pain, but he felt nothing. Maybe the adrenalin is keeping the pain away, he thought. He began to move his extremities. First his arms, then hands, legs, then feet. They were all there and accounted for. He ever saw what hit him. Possibly a hand grenade. They found themselves in an ambush, and now Damien, dazed and helpless, found himself lying on the ground in the wide open.

He tried to move, but not before something grabbed the back of his jacket and began to drag him across the road. It was Micah; he risked his life to save Damien. Micah dragged him behind a wall and propped him up against it.

"Are you okay? Are you alright?" Micah yelled at Damien.

"Yeah... I think so."

"You're lucky. Get up!"

Damien was finally able to fully compose himself and sit up. His gun was still attached to him thanks to the strap. Surveying the area, Damien saw where he hit the ground. Not too far from where he was, a couple of dead men lied in the street. They had taken the worst the grenade had to offer, but unintentionally giving Damien the chance to survive. He felt bad for the soldiers, but there was nothing that could be done now. He hated feeling that way, though. He felt like war was changing him. Seeing a pile of dead bodies and shrugging it off and carrying on, he would have never been able to imagine such horror before his time here. But this was reality.

Small gun fire came from down the street. A machine gun nest was posted through a window of a house just down the road a bit on the right side. The gun had to go down if the American soldiers had any hope of surviving the ambush. Damien and Micah was behind a low wall, on the left side of the street, separating themselves form the gun fire. Micah hit Damien on the arm, as to get his attention.

When Damien looked over, he saw Micah pointing in the direction opposite to the road. A couple of other American soldiers were heading further away from the road in an effort to find a flank route. Taking on the German soldiers and their machine gun nest head on would be tactical suicide. Damien followed the soldier's lead between buildings and through yards, Micah stuck close behind him.

When they made it a couple lawns down the street, they came under fire again. This time, it was a much smaller, more manageable group of enemy soldiers. For the first time since engagement began, Damien began returning fire towards the enemy. He hid behind another low wall, peeking over to take shot at the Germans. The lack of light made it hard to see much but the occasional movement of shadows and the mussel flash of their guns. Damien fired a few shots, not sure if any of them made their mark. With each shot fired, it sent shock waves up his arm and rang in his head. After eight shots, his gun made the _ping_sound the M1 Garands are both famous and infamous for. The ping is the result of the empty clip being ejected out of the gun. Damien grabbed another clip of ammo and tried to load it into his gun. The adrenaline made it hard. His hands were shaking and he struggled to get the clip in the gun. He looked around the wall. Another soldier, and American soldier, was firing his gun before he suddenly stopped. A cloud of blood spewed out of the back of his head. His body shook violently before collapsing to the ground in a discomforting state of calm. Damien wished he hadn't seen it. But again, nothing could be done. Micah was to Damien's right side, firing towards the enemy when his gun pinged, then he crouched down to reload. Damien stood up in time to see somebody running out in the open. Damien focused on him with his gun's sight. He hesitated, trying to make sure it was an enemy he was about to shoot at. The glare of the little light there was showed that the helmet was undoubtedly shaped like that of a German's and not an American's. With one good shot, the helmet, and the enemy soldier, fell to the ground.

A few Germans remained, but the Americans outnumbered them, and the enemy was dealt with within a few minutes. Continuing down, the soldiers made it to where the machine gun nest was located on the other side of the street. Crossing the street was extremely dangerous, but essential if they wanted to take out that gun. The commanding officer of our squad to give cover fire. They wanted to force the Germans to take cover long enough for the advancing American soldiers to make it safely across the street; or at least as safely as possible. A hail of bullets rang down the street, forcing the Germans into hiding. The group of men ran across the street and ran to the house with the gun nest. A single grenade through the window ended that problem.

With the gun nest no longer a threat, the odds were significantly tilted in the American's favor. Within minutes, the Germans were retreating. Victory came at a heavy cost, though; the squad lost a few of its already thin group. But it isn't unusual for such sacrifices to be made. It happens on a daily basis out here.

By day break, Damien and Micah's squad made it to a large church in the center of town. The church was temporarily being used as an aid station, supplying water and medical attention if needed, as well as a communication hub. It was also a safe place to catch some rest. Damien was exhausted, but kept going as he knew he had to. Micah was equally as exhausted, but refused to let it show. Damien sat down on the platform at the end of the church's isle. Micah joined him.

"Micah." Said Damien.

"Yeah, sport?" Replied Micah.

"Thanks for saving my ass after that grenade explosion."

Micah shook his head, "Don't thank me. Just thank God you're alright. We're in the right place for it after all." He laughed.

"You didn't have to risk your life like that to save me."

"Are you serious? Like I was just gonna leave you out there for the Jerries to finish off? I wasn't about to stand by and let you get killed out there, bud." Micah took a drink of water from his canteen. "And besides," he continued, "Alice would have been pissed at me if I didn't so something."

Damien was ashamed to admit it, but he almost forgot about Alice. The Hell on the front line temporarily washed away the pleasant memories of home. But he was more than grateful to have Micah with him now. He didn't know what would have happened if Micah wasn't there, and he didn't really want to think about it. Micah had Damien's back, just as Damien had Micah's. They were a great team together, determined to help each other survive and look out for one another. Damien had no idea how he would ever repay Micah for saving his life. He owed him his life, and he knew that.

The rest and relaxation in the church was, overall, short lived when word got in that a German counter attack was closing in from the North. A last ditch effort was being put forth by the enemy to regain the crucial town, and the church was soon to be right in the line of fire.

"Get ready, men!" shouted the commanding officer, "Jerry will be here any minute. This church does NOT fall! You hear me?!"

"Yes, sir!" was heard through the church.

Damien and Micah were sent to the second floor of the church. They, along with a few other riflemen, would act as a crude sniper team since an official one was not on hand. Armed with scope-less M1 Garands and Carbines, they awaited the fury that was soon to come.

The view was a great vantage point. From Damien's position, he could see far down a wide road. Damien was a great marksman, one of the best back at training camp, but he felt unsure about his ability to hold off the enemy. Micah was a pretty amazing shot himself. He should have been a sniper, he's that good. All of their marksman skills would soon be put to the test.

Within thirty minutes of setting up, gun fire was heard down the street. Smoke made it hard to see anything far down the street. Before long, soldiers began running through the smoke, and the counter attack was on. Instead of being on the offensive like last night, today, the Americans found themselves on the defensive.

Damien focused down the sight of his gun. He could practically hear his heart beat in his ears. Training took over as he slowed his breathing down. His aim steadied and his heart rate slowed. The German silhouettes were getting larger. Without scoped weapons, long distance shots were hard to make, so the enemy had to get uncomfortably close in order to ensure accurate shots. Finally, Damien squeezed the trigger. The shockwave kicked the gun back. Time slowed down as he watched the intended target fall to the ground, and the soldiers surrounding him dispersed in fright.

Micah fired next. His shot found its target, too. Before long, a number of bodies laid out in the middle of the street as the riflemen upstairs did their best to shoot targets before they got close. A stolen MG-42 downstairs was taking care of any soldier that got too close to the church. The beaten and battered American force in the church was actually keeping the Germans at bay.

And that's when the tank came into view.

The streets were just wide enough and clear enough for the German tank to make its way towards the church. A state of panic hit the soldiers on the second story of the church. A few men ran. "I'm not sticking around to get blown up!" yelled one man as he took his gun and ran back towards the rest of the soldiers held up on the floor. Damien thought about retreat too. There was no way in hell he could take on a tank. He pulled his gun back, ready to go, but something stopped him. Micah didn't move from his spot. He was determined to hold his ground, and he wasn't about to let the threat of a tank turn him into a coward. Damien thought he was crazy, like he had some sort of death wish. But what could he do? Micah saved Damien's life. What kind of friend would he be if he left Micah alone? He would be a cowardly friend, and Damien couldn't live with that. Against all intuition to leave, Damien made the decision to stay and fight as long as he could. He pulled his gun back up, and continued picking off targets one by one.

The tank rolled closer with every passing second. Its advance was slow, but persistent. Nothing stood in its way. Damien's heart dropped when the tank's cannon aimed up towards the church. Damien barely had enough time to yell, "Get down!" and pushed Micah to the floor when the tank fired. A huge hold was blown in the wall just feet from where they were. The sound was defining. Rubble and dust filled the air, causing Damien to choke.

"We gotta get outta here!" shouted Damien.

This time, Micah didn't hesitate. As quick as a rabbit, they both sprang to their feet and bolted down the hallway. Glass shattered as bullets came flying through the windows. The Germans were throwing everything they had at the church. A second big blast blew through the church's brick walls like it was cardboard. This time, the shell was on target. The blast knocked both Damien and Micah to the ground. Damien grabbed his head. The shellshock left him near deaf and unconscious. It took him a minute to regain himself. He got up, expecting to see Micah in front of him, but he wasn't there. Did Micah just leave him? He wouldn't have, he never would.

"Micah!" shouted Damien. He expected to see Micah run back for him, but instead, a weak voice came from beside him.

"Damien..."

He turned, horrified to what he found. Micah was on the ground, bloodied and stuck underneath a pile of rubble.

"Micah! Hold on!" Damien didn't hesitate to start pushing rubble off of his brother in arms. One piece of rubble was so heavy, he couldn't lift it. He pressed his feet against a wall and pushed with all his strength to get the piece of wall off of Micah. With the rubble off, Damien finally saw the reality of the situation. Micah nearly took the full blast of the shell. His ears were bleeding, his left leg was visibly broken, and his right hand was crushed, nearly beyond recognition of it being a hand at all.

"I can't breathe," whispered Micah.

The wounds were horrible. And Micah not being able to breathe meant that he either had broken ribs or his lungs were filling up with blood. Worse case scenario, both could be true.

"You're going to be okay!" insisted Damien. He wasn't even sure if Micah could hear him.

He tried to lift up Micah. He screamed in pain. Damien dropped him back down. The yellow in Micah's eyes were fading.

"Just go!" shouted Micah as loud as he could. The effort caused his to cough.

"I'm not leaving you!"

"I'm not gonna make it through this. Don't risk your life for me. Go home to your parents and your girl. I got nothing back home. Look at me, I'm a wreck. So just leave me. Just go."

Damien felt his eyes getting heavy with the thought of losing his friend.

"Damien, listen to me," continued Micah, "you have to leave me. It's okay. I understand."

His voice was barely a whisper. With every effort to speak, he coughed, which caused him to flinch in agony. Damien was frozen in time. He wiped the tears from his eyes, unintentionally replacing them with Micah's blood that was on his hands. He didn't know what to do.

He promised he would never do anything to hurt the ones he loved, and he would stop at nothing to protect them.

_ ...Would stop at nothing to protect them..._

_ ...Stop at nothing..._

_ _ "The water's so peaceful today."

"Yeah... Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, son?"

"What's wrong with Mom?"

"She's... upset."

"About what?"

"Your little brother."

"Oh... Why'd he die, Dad?"

"I don't know, son... There were some... complications."

"Mom's drinking more now than before."

"Yeah, we all have our own ways dealing with grief."

"Was it Mom's drinking that caused the... 'complications'?"

"Yeah, that could very well be the case. Sometimes, you're too smart for your own good, Damien."

"Dad...?"

"Yes?"

"Why does Mom drink? Why does Mom do this?"

"I'm not sure buddy. Some people make poor decisions and sometimes those decisions can transform a person into someone... unrecognizable. You're mother means no harm, and she loves you more than anything in the world. She's just made some poor decisions, that's all."

"But..."

"It will all be okay, son."

Never do anything to hurt the ones he loved... Stop at nothing to protect them.

Damien grabbed Micah, ignoring his cries.

"Damien, what are you doing? Just go!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Damien!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, MICAH!!"

Micah stared at Damien, slightly frightened by his sudden snap at him. Micah has never seen Damien angry, and never has Damien cursed at him before. He knew that Damien was going to try to carry him out, and no amount of pleading could ever change his mind.

Damien got Micah up and threw his left arm over his shoulders. Micah's left leg was in bad shape, so Damien acted as Micah's leg, holding him vertical while they made their way through the bullet-ridden hallway. The stairs were the next obstacle, but Damien didn't think twice about picking up Micah and carrying him down. Micah was smaller than Damien, but not by much. At the bottom of the stairs, Micah stood on his one good leg, and they continued through the church. Damien realized he dropped his gun back up on the second floor, but it was far too late to go back for it. He pulled out his Colt handgun and continued guiding Micah. The bottom floor of the church was empty. No one remained. If anything, Damien was hoping the medic teams were still there, but everyone retreated, leaving Damien and Micah behind. They had to leave the church if they wanted any hope of survival.

Micah hopped along, hooked onto Damien's side, as fast as he could. Outside the church, there was no one around. The Germans were still on the far side of the church, letting the tank perform it's devastation on the building. They kept moving away from the church. The cover of a number of small homes and landscaping was only about twenty feet away. Damien looked at Micah. His facial expression changed from accepting death a few minutes ago to determination.

Just yard from safety, Damien felt a sting in his right arm. He turned to see a number of German infantry men turning the corner of the church. Damien held up his pistol and fired a few shots back as they crossed over into a yard. A brick wall separated them, providing cover for Damien and Micah. Micah insisted they go behind the houses so they aren't found again.

A couple blocks later, Damien spotted some American soldiers crouched down on the side of the street.

"Hey! Help!" yelled Damien. Between the passion in his voice and exhaustion, his voice cracked when he shouted.

The American soldiers turned around. The look on their face said one thing, disbelief.

They came running over and Damien was overjoyed to see one of the men had a helmet with a red cross on it. "Holy shit..." said the medic.

"We need help!"

"I got him!" said the medic, who took him off Damien's shoulders.

Damien followed the medic to where they had set up a temporary aid station. A truck was there with a large red cross on it, getting ready to take away the wounded. Micah was put on the truck.

"Come here, I'll help you out!" said another medic who approached Damien with a medic kit.

"What? What are you doing?"

"You've been shot."

It wasn't until now that Damien noticed the gaping hole in his arm. He remembered the stinging he felt after the escaped the church. He was so focused on getting Micah to someone who could help, he didn't even know about his injury.

The field doctor patched up Damien. He was asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he said he was fine. Walking around the temporary set up, he saw, formed neatly in a row, a number of dead bodies. He hated the sight of it, but was curious of who they were, where they came from, and how they died. One man in particular caught Damien's attention. He looked familiar somehow, but he couldn't place the face with a name.

Damien noticed a piece of something falling out of the man's chest pocket. He looked around, worried if he was about to do something wrong. He reached down and pulled the object from the deceased man's pocket. It was a photograph. The picture showed a woman holding an infant. The man was the stranger from the truck.

"A kid shouldn't grow up without his father. A father should always be there."

_ _ Damien placed the image back in the man's pocket.

_ _ "...And I'm sorry you won't be, friend."