agent [ reader x zussman ]

• iii •

The brunt of the explosion crashes into your chest, sending you stumbling backwards. Even from your crouched position, you are knocked off your feet and you are sent flying backwards.

You feel a chunk of metal slice through your pants, tearing at the flesh underneath. Your hands grip wildly for anything to hold onto, anything to keep you from sliding underneath the tracks of Perez' tank.

Suddenly, your fingers grab hold to a latch. With an iron grip, you close your hand tight around the metal. Just inches from falling off the back of the tank and underneath the tracks, you're more than grateful for not falling to your death. Crushed to death by a Sherman does not sound like the most fun way to go.

From above, you hear Perez order everyone to clear the tanks. With all the tanks halted, staying on the tanks would make you sitting ducks just waiting to get shot at. You safely are able to climb down off the tank. As soon as you jump down onto the ground, a surge of pain shoots through your leg.

"Son of a bitch." You growl, looking down at the gash on your thigh. You dab the wound with your sleeve, hoping that some of the bleeding would stop, but you don't have time to actually dress it. Within seconds of the tanks pulling to a halt, bullets start to fly over your head, squealing as they slice through the air. You turn to make sure that everyone else got off alright just in time to see a large German tank cresting the hill.

"Enemy armor!" Zussman calls out. You and Zussman lower your heads, making a dash out of the way of the tank's turret. "We need to get off the road!" He yells, waving for you to follow him.

The two of you sprint off the road, now sheltered by a few downed trees and hedgerows. The threat hasn't passed, not in the slightest, but you're safer in cover then out in the open.

Up ahead, you're relieved to see most of the crew still alive. Red faced Aiello, Stiles, and Daniels have their rifles in their hands, looking over their shoulders for enemies. Pierson and Turner had also made it and were talking about the next plan of attack.

"-protect our Shermans, they're our best chance at taking Marigny." You overhear Turner yell, though his voice hardly carries over the choir of gunfire and explosions in the air. To the untrained ear, perhaps no one would have noticed the familiar ringing of a specific weapon in the distance.

"Hear that? AA guns." You point out. Everyone pauses, listening for the weapon. Turner nods in confirmation.

"We need to capture one of those AA guns and take out those Stukas." Turner orders. Pierson pulls out a map, showing where about the guns would be located. With your help, you manage to pin down the location. A few fields over, your key to Marigny awaits. However, by the sound of screaming soldiers and the coppery scent of blood in the air, it was to be a gory battle from the location of the tanks to the AA guns.

"We should take the barn first. At least then we'll have some place to hunker down if need be." You advise.

"Good idea. Daniels, Stiles, Pierson, flank left with me. L/N, Zussman, and Aiello, flank right." Turner orders. With a nod, the larger group splits off into the two designated smaller groups.

You dip to the right, rifle in hand; locked and loaded. As you make a crouched sprint towards the best place of cover on the right side of the barn, the wound on your leg howls in protest. You ignore the pain and slide behind a part of the cobblestone wall.

Peaking over the wall, it looks as if the Germans are preoccupied with Turner, Daniels, Stiles, and Pierson on the other side. This leaves a perfect opening for an attack on the back of the group. You pull your rifle over and aim steadily down the sights, cautious to slow your breathing and to keep your body still. With a squeeze of the trigger, a spray of bullets cascade out of the muzzle.