We quickly got together, all of the survivors from Lane’s squad falling in line. Cora and Zach returned to the field hospital while the rest of us set off, Sergeant Lane once again in the lead.

“They want us guarding two machine gun positions placed on a road between Omaha and Gold Beach. They’re each at the top of different hills, so we’re splitting up when we get there. Hayes, Wendon, Ford, you’re with me. Maxley, stick with Corporal Norton. If there’s going to be a smaller group anyway, it should be with me.” We all nodded or spoke in affirmation, so we followed the Sergeant into the night.

We arrived at the pair of small hills within half an hour, meeting no resistance along the way. As we approached the hill, someone from the hilltop called out, “Flash!” I stopped in my tracks, readying my rifle in confusion, before Keith grabbed my shoulder. He shook his head at me, then motioned towards Sergeant Lane.

“Thunder!” Lane called out, not stopping his advance. “We’re here to relieve you guys!”

“Well it’s about damn time!” They had five guys in a little sandbag fortification, with one machine gun pointed south down the hill. We reached the top of the hill soon, and their leader continued. “The next hill’s a bit smaller than this one. There’re… Nine of you? Probably want five on this one then.” He gave his name to Lane followed by a rundown of the situation so far. Not much had happened, apparently. They’d heard a bit of gunfire to the south an hour or so ago, but hadn’t seen or heard anything since. “We’re out of here then, Sarge.” He gave a wave then he and his guys headed back down the hill. “They’ll send someone to relieve you in about six hours. Or, they should anyway.”

“Right,” Sergeant Lane muttered, rolling his eyes. “Norton, Quinn, Porter, Wexler, Maxley, this one’s yours. Do not leave the hill unless absolutely necessary. Nothing gets past you. Got it?”

“Understood,” Keith replied, as I nodded. “Good luck, Sarge.” Lane smiled weakly at that, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever, then took the other three privates and headed east, for the next hill.

The beginning of our watch was as uneventful as expected, the only blip in the first two hours being the previous team from the next hill passing by on their way back, about fifteen minutes in.

“I can’t see shit,” Miles said, looking through a pair of binoculars the previous crew had left there. He was next to me while I manned the machine gun. Maxley was a few feet away on the other side, squinting into the darkness. Keith and Davey were ostensibly watching the sides, but I didn’t think they were doing much of anything. “Wait. I think… Yeah, there’s someone out there,” Miles said, quietly. “Check it out.” He handed me the binoculars and I removed my glasses so I could look through them.

“Where?” I asked, seeing only the night sky and the now-familiar dark landscape. He pointed, so I focused on where I thought he meant. “Oh, damn. I see him. One guy. Running, stumbling a bit. Limping, I think.”

“Hey, K- Norton. What do we do? There’s someone out there. I think he’s hurt.”

“Well, shit, I don’t know. What’s he wearing? Can you tell?” Keith asked, shrugging.

“Too dark,” I shook my head. “Fuck it. Maxley, let’s go get him. If he’s not one of us, he’s probably French or German, right?”

“Sure,” The kid said, eager to help. “Let’s go.” I handed Keith the binoculars and put my glasses back on. I readied my rifle and vaulted over the sandbag wall, Maxley following suit.

We snuck out of the fort, Miles and Davey taking up the machine gun and Keith watching us through the binoculars. We slowly crept down the hill, towards the last place we’d seen the mystery man. He’d seemed to be heading in our direction. He soon came into sight, but it didn’t seem like he’d noticed us yet.

“Flash!” I tried out, and he jolted straight up, raising his hands.

“Les américains?!” He called out nervously. French, then.

“Oui! Venez,” I called back, and he approached us nervously, at a slower pace than his previous one.

“My men are trapped! Help them, please!” A tall, thin man with black hair cropped short cried out in French, stumbling as he neared us. Like I thought, he was wounded- he had bruises on his face and a gunshot wound through his left leg. It was a wonder the guy was walking at all.

“You are with the Résistance?” He confirmed that he was, so I continued. “Where are they?”

“Two kilometres south. They are- agh…” He clenched his leg, his face scrunched up in pain. “They are in an old château. The Nazis surrounded it. I do not know how much longer they can hold it! Please… There are civilians inside too.” He begged, his expression one of despair.

“... We will. I promise…” I sighed, and explained the situation to Maxley. “You in?” I asked him at the end.

“Hell yeah. What are we waiting for?”

“Okay. Let’s get him back up the hill. Uh, how are you called? I am Lee Quinn.” I asked the French soldier.

“Captain Lucien Auclair. Is it… Only two of you?” He asked, and I shook my head.

“No. There are three more on the hill. Come with us. Euh, should I carry you?” I asked, concerned about his leg.

“Non.” He replied simply, forcing his posture to improve and marching to the hill by the power of pure determination and his still-shaking legs. Maxley and I just glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed him up the hill.

“Flash!” I recognized Keith’s voice, so I gave the reply.

“Thunder! Why do they do that, anyway? Why thunder?” I asked, as the three of us rejoined the group.

“Germans have trouble with the ‘th’ sound.” Surprisingly, Maxley was the one to answer. “That’s probably why.”

“Oh. That makes sense. They must use words with lots of L’s in the Pacific, huh?.” Maxley just shrugged. “Whatever. Corporal Norton,” I started, as we vaulted back into the makeshift fort. “This is Lucien Auclair. He’s a captain with the French Resistance. He says his men and several civilians are trapped in a manor house a couple of kilometers south of here.”

“Well shit. Let’s get them out of there, then,” Keith said, eagerly. I was a bit surprised he cared, honestly. “We can’t leave this thing unmanned… Porter, you stay on duty with the Capitaine over here.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll bandage up his leg then?” Miles asked, scratching his head. He opened up a first-aid kit the previous squad manning our position had left behind. Keith seemed satisfied with that so I asked Auclair for more precise instructions, and then we headed out. We went as fast as we reasonably could, but we still took it slow since we could hardly see anything. We would occasionally mark a tree on the way south, so we’d be able to find our way back. After about twenty minutes we found a small road, so we knew we were in the right place. We quickly got off the road and moved along parallel to it, the night our only cover. Davey and Maxley stayed to the left side of the road, Keith and I on the right.

“Hey, Quinn,” Keith whispered, soft enough that only I could hear. “Take this.” He handed me a pistol in its holster. “Unlimited ammo,” He whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t even have to reload. I handed some out to Miles and Davey while you were gone; figured something like this might happen.”

“What do you mean? Something like this?” I asked, my voice as soft as his. I attached the holster to my belt, carefully placing the one I already had into my pack with the Luger.

“This is a Side-Mission!” Though he kept his voice down, he was visibly excited; he even pumped his arm, joyfully. “Something extra that wasn’t in the movie. This is our chance to earn a shit-ton of Points. Just check your watch. The Missions tab.” He smirked, apparently rejoicing the fact that he could lord his superior knowledge of the black watch over me. I rolled my eyes, but followed his suggestion anyway.

I opened the Missions tab and, just like he said, a few new lines had appeared under the main Mission’s description. The page now read:

MISSION WORLD: SAVING PRIVATE RYAN

PRIMARY GOAL: SAVE PRIVATE RYAN (100 Points)

If Private James Francis Ryan is still alive at the end of the Mission, all Players are awarded 100 points.

SECONDARY GOALS:

Kill German Soldiers (1 Point per soldier kill) (5 Points per officer kill) Destroy German Tanks (10 Points per tank) Capture German Soldiers (2 Points per soldier captured) (10 Points per officer captured)

TIME LIMIT: EIGHT DAYS

MISSION FAILURE: PRIVATE RYAN DIES

FAILURE CONSEQUENCES: All Players immediately leave the Mission world, all rewards are voided, and this Mission world is locked permanently.

SIDE MISSIONS:

MISSION: RESCUE CAPTAIN AUCLAIR’S MEN AND THE FRENCH CIVILIANS 3 POINTS FOR EVERY SOLDIER RESCUED 5 POINTS FOR EVERY CIVILIAN RESCUED In this case, an individual is considered rescued if they are successfully evacuated and/or all the Nazis in the area are incapacitated. Each Player participating in the rescue will receive the full Point value.

“I see. That’s good to know,” I muttered, returning the watch to its home screen. I looked up then, something ahead of us catching my eye.

“Wait,” Keith said, barely above a whisper. “Guys, stop, you see that?” He asked a bit louder, so the guys across the road could just barely hear. Of course I could see it. Torchlight off in the distance, and a large building. “You guys ready to do this?”

“Hell yeah,” Maxley replied, as Davey nodded nervously.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” I added, before we advanced. I’d always wanted to say that!

We crept toward the lights, moving as slowly and silently as we could. By my count there were eight Nazis in the area: three standing in a line holding torches, two hacking away at the massive front door with hand axes, and two fully armed and standing to either side of a self-important-looking Nazi officer. His outfit, his posture, and his expression all screamed “Mr Big Deal” to me. He stood there, upright and rigid, with his hands pressed together behind his back, fist to fist. He stared straight at the door with a grave and serious expression, like he was trying to drill through it with his eyes. He wore a similar grey uniform to the officer I’d captured in the ruined pillbox earlier in the day, but this guy’s hat was even fancier.

“Light ‘em up on three,” Keith whispered, as we silently spread out and took whatever cover we could. I had my back against a particularly large tree, and watched Keith from there. He held up a fist then, slowly raising his index finger.

“One,” I murmured, gulping. This was really the first time I would be on the side initiating combat; I felt a nervousness building up that I hadn’t felt since I jumped off of that boat, what felt like a thousand years before. I took a few deep breaths to try and calm myself down. I worked. Sort of.

“Two outs,” I snickered quietly, as Keith slowly raised his pinky. Before he finished counting, however, one of the Nazis cheered as his axe finally smashed apart one of the boards of the door. He stuck his axe through the hole and lifted, presumably trying to remove a bar holding the doors shut. Keith’s middle finger hurriedly joined the others, then it was go time.

“Forks up,” I laughed openly as we all opened fire. Seeing the familiar hand sign in the middle of a fucking war was just too much. Keith mowed down two of the torch-bearers with his BAR, while the third one dropped his torch and dove for cover, the trees and the darkness his shroud. I had taken a few shots at the officer, but I’d been way off target. One of the hand axe guys took a shot to the gut before the last torch was snuffed out, our battlefield fading away under the cover of the night. I fired two more shots towards the house, before I winced at the PING! of my clip being ejected. I fumbled for a few seconds, trying to reload in the dark, before I gave up. I set the rifle against the tree and drew the sidearm Keith had given me several minutes prior. It felt good in my hand, not that I really knew what a good handgun was supposed to feel like.

“Now what?!” I heard Davey yell, the shots ceasing.

“Fuck! They made it into the house!” Keith roared, then continued: “We’re going in after them! Follow me!”

Left with no real choice, I ran after him, pistol in hand. I got about halfway to the building, however, before I was knocked to the ground! I dropped the handgun and was completely disoriented, barely able to recognize the scenery. I’d been tackled and, while it didn’t register right away, it was by the one torch guy that had gotten away. Apparently he hadn’t quite made it inside before we stormed the castle. I heard the sound of steel sliding out of a sheath, and barely raised my left hand in time to protect my chest and my face. The Nazi’s combat knife pierced straight into my left palm!

I cried out in agony, the pain far worse than anything I’d ever felt before that moment. He tried to push down on me, using his entire body mass to press the knife further. The blade slid through all the way to the hilt soon after, my arm barely able to hold him up.

I gritted my teeth and groped around for my new handgun, a cold sweat running down my entire body. I could feel the Nazi’s sweat, too, dripping down onto my face as he pushed the knife closer and closer to my chest. My left arm felt weak, then numb, and just as the knife had begun to break the skin on my chest, I found the gun. I found and switched off the safety with my thumb, then jammed the barrel into the guy’s gut. I unloaded on him, firing round after round into my stunned attacker, until he went still after more than a dozen shots had rung out. Finally using both arms, I thrust his body away and shot to my feet, the knife still stuck through my hand.

I quickly decided not to remove it there; I had no idea what the proper extraction procedure was. I looked up to the night sky, my entire body shaking, amazed and overjoyed to be alive, yet still in harrowing pain. My left arm was sore beyond anything I’d ever felt before, and the knife’s sharp touch was ever present. There was even a small wound on my chest, maybe a quarter of an inch deep, that was steadily leaking little drops of blood. I shakily looked back to the ground, my eyes finally used to the dark again after having my night vision ruined by the torchlight before the skirmish started. Lying before me was a dark-haired young man, maybe a few years older than me, an expression of mixed terror, excruciating pain and disbelief forever frozen on his lifeless face. I grabbed his helmet off the ground and slid it over his face, putting the man and our fight behind me. Finally done with the shocking ordeal, I stepped over his body, to get back to the real mission. Or, real Side Mission. Whatever.

I crouched down and stayed low as I crept over to the entrance. Leaning against the wall just outside the door, I peeked into the large entrance hall and recognized Keith and Maxley on the left side of the room, taking cover behind what seemed to be a hastily constructed sofa barricade. I silently swore when I saw Davey lying on the ground towards the center of the room, face first in a pool of his own blood. It wasn’t much solace, but another of the Nazis lay dead flat on his back next to him, his own hand axe buried in his chest. That reminded me of the one that had been shot before the lights went out; I looked to my feet and there he was, axe and all. Breathing raggedly I picked up the axe and, my left arm essentially useless, slid it into my handgun holster. It wasn’t a great fit, but it worked out alright.

I got as low to the ground as I could, watching the Nazi officer and his two goons, all standing on the landing of one of the room’s two staircases, trading fire with Maxley and Keith. One of them had hauled a big piece of metal - maybe a table - up the steps and they took cover behind that. One of the Nazi guards had emptied his rifle, and ducked behind his cover to reload. I figured that was the best chance I’d get, so I crept into the room, swiftly ducking into the shadows on the right side.

There was another staircase on my side of the room, and I believed I’d gotten in below their notice, so I crept towards the right-side stairs. They were all tunnel visioned on Maxley and Keith, probably believing they were the only ones we had. They never did get a good look at our whole team, after all. I did have one grenade left, I realized at that moment, but I didn’t want to risk bringing the whole house down on us. So I bucked up, took a deep breath, and sneaked onto to the first step. I slowly slinked up the stairs, silently praying I wouldn’t get done in by a squeaky step. About two thirds of the way up it happened- the board under my left foot creaked. I froze on the spot and slowly turned my head towards the Nazis, hoping against all hope that they hadn’t heard it. Surely the gunfire could drown it out, right?

Of course not. The officer’s gaze shot right to me; he narrowed his eyes, bellowed out in German, and pointed at me. I opened fire on them before they could, as I actually had a decent vantage point by then. The odds were stacked against me, though. I was effectively a one-armed amateur with a pistol. They tried to angle their steel table to block both me and Keith’s position instead of shooting back right away, so I charged the rest of the way up the staircase, crashing through the first door I could find.

CLANG!

I saw stars for a few seconds, unable to form a coherent thought, after something slammed into my helmet. When I came to, in front of me stood a mortified-looking middle aged woman holding a frying pan in one hand, the other covering her mouth. Two small children and a young teen were huddled together on a bed, eyes closed and crying.

“I am an American,” I started, in French again, “We are here to save you!” She looked to my left hand, incredulous and worried. I couldn’t blame her- there was still a knife stuck through it, after all! “Get to the back wall. With the children. I will protect you.” She just nodded and backed up, the frying pan clattering to the floor. I took a few more deep breaths, then I opened the door back up and peeked over at the three Nazis. Or one Nazi, as it turned out; Maxley and Keith had slain one of the guards, his body fallen over the railing, blood splattered across the floor. The officer was nowhere to be seen. The guard was still exchanging fire with Keith and Maxley, so I slipped out of the room, as quietly as I could. I trained my pistol on the last guard, trying to line up a perfect shot. I pulled the trigger several times in succession, every third or fourth shot striking true. I grinned as the final guard breathed his last, crumpling onto the stairway landing.

“Now where’s that damn officer?” I mumbled, lowering the gun.

Then a knife slid into my back.