As the ramp fell with a thunderous crash, bullets tore through the air with a sound like ripping canvas, kicking up sprays of sand and water.
Edison's breath seized in his chest. No more steel hull to hide behind.
But the body he inhabited knew better than to freeze.
Move or die.
He lurched forward—only to be slammed backward as three soldiers collapsed into him, their weight crushing him against the blood-slick deck.
Something warm splashed across his face. Edison wiped at it blindly, his fingers coming away red.
The men weren't moving. One stared up at him with hollow eyes, a hole punched through his forehead.
Adrenaline burned through Edison's veins like wildfire.
He shoved the corpses aside with a strength that wasn't entirely his own—Eddie's muscle memory taking over. The 65-pound haversack? Useless. He ripped it free, letting it sink into the gore-filled water.
"GO! GO! GO!"
A sergeant waved them forward, his mouth moving soundlessly beneath the machine-gun roar.
Edison stumbled out of the boat, his boots sank into the icy cold water.
Ahead, through the smoke, he spotted a row of iron tank obstacles—Czech hedgehogs—30 feet away. The closest cover.
Edison ran.
He ran like he'd never run before—head low, lungs burning, boots churning out of the water and onto the sand
Soldiers were falling like flies all around him.
One moment a soldier was sprinting, the next his torso exploded in a red mist, his legs still moving two steps before crumpling. Another clutched his stomach, screaming as he fell onto the bloodied sand.
One artillery shell exploded so close that for a moment, the world went completely silent.
Edison felt the shockwave punch through his chest, but his legs kept moving on pure instinct.
He threw himself forward, hitting the sand hard. His face scraped against the gritty beach as he scrambled toward the metal tank obstacle just a few feet away.
Bullets tore into the ground around him, kicking up sprays of sand that stung like hornets against his exposed skin.
Tiny cuts opened on his hands and cheeks, but he didn't stop crawling.
Finally, he reached the hedgehog—a twisted pile of steel beams welded together.
He pressed himself flat against the sand, his whole body shaking.
The machine gun fire was relentless.
He could hear the bullet hitting the metal in front of him, the ringing was so loud that he wish he could just burrow himself deep into the sand.
What now?
He couldn't stay here forever. But every time he even thought about moving, another burst of gunfire chewed up the sand inches from his face.
Then—
BOOM!
Another shell hit, this one even closer. The blast lifted him off the ground and threw him backward like a ragdoll.
He landed hard, his head spinning. For a few seconds, everything was muffled, like he was underwater. His vision blurred—sky and smoke and blood all swirling together.
Something grabbed his arm.
Before he could react, he was being dragged across the sand, his body bumping over rocks and debris. He tried to pull away weakly, but then—
WHACK!
A hard slap across his face snapped him back to reality. His ears popped, and sound rushed back in.
A sergeant loomed over him, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. ".... of a bitch!" the man roared, shaking him. "Pull yourself together!"
He blinked hard and looked around. They were crouched behind a cluster of larger hedgehogs—thicker metal beams that offered better cover.
Around him, men were scrambling to survive.
Some fired through gaps in the obstacles, their rifles cracking against the constant roar of machine guns.
Others weren't so lucky—one soldier clutched his stomach, blood seeping through his fingers as he gasped for air.
Then Edison saw him.
The kid from the boat.
The boy who had prayed beside him, shaking so bad that he couldn't even hold the rifle properly.
Now he lay sprawled in the sand, his left leg gone below the knee. His face was pale, his lips slightly parted as if he had been caught mid-breath.
Edison couldn't look away.
SMACK!
Another slap rocked his head sideways.
The sergeant—a grizzled man with a face like cracked leather—grabbed his shoulder.
"Focus, soldier!" the sergeant barked. "Those men are gone. You wanna join 'em? Then keep your head in the fight!"
Edison swallowed hard and nodded.
The sergeant didn't wait for a reply. He snatched an M1 rifle from a dead man's hands and shoved it into Edison's grip, along with a bloodstained ammo pouch.
Edison's own rifle was gone—lost in the explosion—but this one would have to do. His fingers fumbled as he checked the clip, his hands still shaking.
Then—a sound cut through the chaos.
A high-pitched whistle, growing louder.
Edison turned just in time to see a fresh wave of landing crafts crash onto the shore. More men poured out, sprinting through the surf, their shouts lost under gunfire.
The German machine guns shifted, their attention splitting between the new targets and the men already on the beach.
The sergeant's eyes locked onto the fresh wave of soldiers charging up the beach. "This is our chance, now or never."
Edison didn't need telling twice. He loaded his rifle with shaky hands and pushed up to one knee. Around him, a few other soldiers followed suit, their faces pale but determined. The sergeant gave a sharp nod.
They waited.
Then—BOOM!—an artillery shell struck nearby. Before the dust settled, the sergeant was moving. He hauled up a trembling soldier who'd frozen in fear and dragged him along.
"Move!"
Edison ran.
Bullets kicked up sand around his boots as he sprinted toward a low sand dune. He threw himself behind it, gasping for air.
The machine gun fire couldn't reach them here—for now.
A hand clapped his shoulder. Edison turned to see a black soldier, blood streaking down his face. The man yanked a bazooka from his pack. "Help me with this," he said, voice rough.
Edison nodded, panting, and pulled a rocket from the soldier's bag. Together, they loaded the weapon.
An idea hit him.
Edison turned and shouted at another group of soldiers still pinned behind the tank obstacles. At first, they didn't hear him over the gunfire.
He yelled again, waving his arms until one finally looked his way. He pointed at the bazooka, then at the bunker on the high slope of the beach.
The black soldier understood. He adjusted the bazooka's aim, muttering, "C'mon, c'mon..."
Edison waited.
BOOM!—another artillery blast.
"Now!"
The soldier squeezed the trigger.
WHOOSH!
The rocket screamed across the beach and slammed into the bunker.
A fireball erupted, silencing the machine gun inside.
Edison peeked over the dune. The pillbox was burning.
He waved frantically at the trapped soldiers. "Go! Go!"
They broke from cover, sprinting through the smoke. One by one, they dove behind the dune, breathing hard.
"Thanks," one muttered, clapping Edison on the back.
Edison just nodded.
The sergeant voice sounded roughly as he also took the oppertunity to reach the sand dune.
"Don't celebrate yet. We're far from done."