Under the Iron Cross

This story is a work of fiction, set against the backdrop of WWII. It contains graphic depictions of violence and injury, but these scenes are not meant to sensationalize or trivialize the suffering experienced by those who lived through such horrors. The story aims to reflect the human cost of war—the courage of soldiers and the compassion of medics, who faced unimaginable trials in their dedication to duty. This narrative honors their lives, their sacrifices, and the complex emotional landscapes they navigated in the midst of conflict. Reader discretion is advised.

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BENEATH THE IRON CROSS 

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13th January 1944, Bavaria, Germany. 

Jude Marshall. A Sergeant of the Royal Fusiliers Regiment, he had been leading a covert operation near the Bavarian borders, it was a commando raid and hadn’t been lucky. God was apparently not on his side this time, as he had been heavily injured while fighting the opposition valiantly without hesitation. A gunshot to his ribs and another to his right thigh, gushing blood. His men had been able to drag him into the hauntingly dense forests of Bavaria in order to seek cover, though everything had gone to shit. He was bleeding out, staring at the sky as he listened to the hurried murmurs of his comrades, the desperate hands applying a crippling pressure to the wounds he sustained. It didn’t last long, for they were being pressed for time during exfiltration, and after minutes of consideration they had left him, claiming to come back with help, patting him on the shoulder as if he could hear them properly and comprehend their words and actions. 

His brain was a cluster of fragmented thoughts and reflections, clawing at his conscience ruthlessly. Small, pained grunts seamlessly slipped past his lips as the man turned, laying over onto his stomach. As if that was going to do anything. The pain was blinding, Jude could feel the warm, slick sensation of his blood exiting his system, the vermillion contents trickling out his mouth as he gently closed his eyes, content with succumbing to his apparent fate. Death. Death that was not even on the frontlines. Just a random, desolate area with no immediate significance. Desperate for oxygen, his chest heaved as he breathed, sharp gasps forcing the air out of his lungs as he lay on the grass, resigned. It was early morning in Germany, the dusted sun trampling over the distant moon. The stars which once worshipped the platinum entity dispersing from the naked eye, soft orange and yellow hues overtaking the sky. 

The heaven’s above seemed melancholic, like it was aware of the implications of the soul-devouring clashes between nations. Jude’s throat felt like it was constricting, his eyes becoming half-lidded as he achingly became susceptible to the lull of slumber. His vision began to darken, similar to his perception of war and life in its whole, the nihilistic views which accompanied his rattled mind like a soothing caress felt like a comfort. The conviction in the futility of life was almost a consolation of sorts for a man like Jude. For a man who spent his life in the military - quite literally. 

 Trembling, blood stained hands gripped onto the grass beneath him, the blades changing into a grotesquely beautiful carmine pigment. Unbeknownst to him, a German nurse who went under the name of Leisel was strolling through these forests she called home, humming a tune under her breath as each of her slow steps led her closer to the injured Sergeant on the ground. Once she had spotted him, curious eyes widened by a minuscule fraction, concern overtaking her heart as she wondered who would do such a thing to a seemingly defenceless man. For a moment she just gawked before she tentatively inched towards Jude, her hands tightening into fists as she came to recognise his uniform. British military, some sort of well-renowned regiment from what she could tell. 

There was a small glint of hesitation within her eyes, the subtle twitch of her hand giving away her conflicted sentiments. She was German. She couldn’t help someone from the opposition. It was treason, plain and simple and it was something that terrified her. The mere thought of being executed snaked a chill up her spine cruelly. Her heart banged against it’s confines as she heard the man groan in pain. Her expression morphing into one of slight sympathy. They might be supposed enemies, but both of them were humans, sentient beings. 

The both of them had feelings and musings. The both of them had aspirations for the future, a life to live. She couldn’t let him perish from his wounds, but she couldn’t go against the Hitler and her people either. She breathed a vacillating sigh, her soul set on helping this man as she stalked towards him, quietly crouching down to his level and rubbing a hand over his shoulder. “Do you need help? You seem injured.” She had murmured, her voice soft and barely above a solemn whisper among the winds which carried her confliction. Jude could barely register what was happening around him, his vision drifting. His ears could detect the subtle hint of her accent, indicating that she was a German. 

His frayed senses heightened as he tried to get up in haste, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in worry of the implications of his situation. He heard the woman gently shush him like a child, trying to steady him to cease his movements. He attempted to weakly shove her hand away as he spit out a visceral yet slurred “Get away from me.” Though Leisel was nothing if not stubborn with a compassionate heart which would make even the most esteemed individuals envious. A moment passed, the only sounds were his laboured breaths and the grim shriek of a crow nearby. She was always prepared for perilous situations, therefore, she had a medical kit on hand, albeit it was not as sufficient as she hoped it would be. Pulling it out, she tenderly engraved reassurances into Jude’s mind through her voice, like a prayer but for the hopeless in a world without mercy. 

With measured breaths, Leisel had taken out some gauze and began to press them against his open wounds, the fluid staining her hands like sin, tainting her with the curse of betrayal. Betrayal of her country, though she could not dwell on those thoughts for too long for the severity of their predicament. The blood was flowing out with haste, making her worry more than she would’ve liked. Her hands were steady and methodical, honed from years of treating an array of injuries due to her fathers medical business. Jude grunted under his breath from the pain in a subtle fashion, albeit it had easily caught the attention of Leisel. “Breathe, I know you might hate me but you have to trust me, can you do that for me?” She inquired calmly, a sense of controlled urgency dripping from each syllable like tampered honey on steel. 

The Sergeant had only fixed her with a scrutinising and wary gaze, staying silent. Those manic Nazi’s and German’s had killed his comrades in cold-blood. Murdered his people right infront of him, detonated bombs as if he was a mere inconvenience. He couldn’t bring himself to trust any German for that matter, though this woman felt different somehow. More compassionate and aware, less like a brainwashed lamb conditioned to eat from the hand of its abuser. As she tended to his wounds minimally, a bomb had gone off towards the East, not too close from where they were. Jude suddenly froze, switching into a sense of hyper-vigilance as his head snapped towards the direction of the noise, muscles tensing imperceptibly. Leisel acknowledged the deeply ingrained weight of his military training within that single movement, snapping her fingers to get his attention. When he tore his gaze away and focused back on her, she could see the way his hardened and weary expression melted into something more softer. More vulnerable and dare she say, trusting.

 “You’re okay. Focus on me.” Her voice echoed within the stillness of the forest. Trees appeared to be playfully dancing as if they had a mind of their own, branches forming grins of taunt. Perhaps he was hallucinating in this very moment, for all he could hear was nothing and all he could see was everything. Not even the flap of a bird's wings were able to be picked up. Staunching the bleeding by a considerable amount, Leisel subsequently tapped his arm, looking into his dazed eyes once he turned his head to look over at her. “We need to go. I have an infirmary nearby, let’s go there, okay? Focus on breathing and moving.” She remarked with a quiet intensity, standing up while simultaneously pulling Jude up along with her, letting him rest some of his weight against her. She manoeuvred his arms so one of them was draped over her shoulder, hers wrapping around his waist as they began walking. 

For Jude this was a painful process, each burdensome step made his gut churn and vision swim, the pain in his thigh and ribs forcing him to grit his teeth. He glanced at the supposed nurse subtly, his gaze hostile but more softened in comparison to when they first met minutes ago. She was risking her life to help him and for that he couldn’t really find it in him to detest her. “Why’re you helping me?” He mused aloud with doubt, staring at her features with keen interest. No response followed for a minute or two, the hesitance within her was palpable. Breaking the silence, a voice seized his eardrums. “No reason. I guess I have an obligation to help you since you're injured, ja?” Leisel responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t by a long shot. The forest became less thickened with each step, as if they were becoming closer to salvation. Leisel’s eyes would continue to search every corner, concealing the parts of his uniform which signalled his affiliation with the Brit. Leisel made sure his arm was pressed close against her to obscure the emblem of the regiment he was a part of. 

Agonisingly sluggish minutes had passed, the sky becoming more clearer as they ventured towards the family-business infirmary she had briefly mentioned. His hair was subtly dampened with his own sweat, body quaking faintly with each movement. Leisel was aware of this but refused to acknowledge them aloud, knowing that men could be prideful and stubborn when it came to injuries or vulnerability. About ten minutes later she managed to reach the infirmary. It was a small and humble family business, tailored to helping anyone who needed it. Citizens, soldiers, hell even criminals sometimes. One of her co-workers, a man named Stefan, immediately rushed to the duo the moment he had caught sight of them, willingly switching positions with Leisel and holding Jude upright. By this time Jude’s consciousness was waning like thread to a knife, his head hung low and his feet refusing to move on their own without immense effort. Leisel and Stefan’s conversation was clipped and brief, mostly regarding Jude’s situation and how they would stabilise him as they made their way to one of the more private rooms in the establishment.

The Sergeant was gingerly placed on one of the beds as Stefan got to work, unbuttoning and removing layers of the injured man’s clothes, placing them aside haphazardly. In order to give him some order of dignity and privacy, Setfan had gotten hold of a thin, white shirt coupled with trousers and helped Jude put them on, since the man was too incoherent and dizzy to do it himself. When he had been laid back down, Stefan and Leisel got back to work without a moment's hesitation. Both of their personalities contrasting, the male nurse with his cold and calculated pragmatism and Leisel, with her bleeding heart and moral conflict. 

As she peeled away the gauze, sticky with dried blood, Jude’s low groan broke through the air, raw and filled with pain. Leisel winced, her fingers pausing for a fraction of a second, as though she could feel his pain through her own skin. Leisel silently vowed to stabilise him as Stefan preoccupied himself with cleaning the gunshot wounds with a sterile solution, meanwhile she had prepared some sedatives to keep the British man calm as they proceeded. Approaching him with a sense of precipitation, syringe in hand, she leaned down next to him, observing the way his skin glistened slightly from sweat. She then lightly gripped his arm, beginning to hum a tune under her breath, only for his ears to hear so that she could distract Jude from what was about to happen, and knowing his drained state, the likelihood of her little trick working was quite high. When she knew he was distracted from the discomfort of Stefan cleaning the wound to his ribs, she injected the sedative into him, continuing to hum even as he glowered at her. 

“The bullet didn’t hit the lung, thank God.” Stefan breathed moments later, forcing out a sigh and leaning his head back to introspectively stare at the ceiling for a mere second before steeling his gaze and returning back to the complicated situation at hand. Jude flinched when Stefan continued with his administrations, his breathing increasing as desperation trailed across the chambers of his heart, eyes darting around like a frightened animal confined to a cage. 

Minutes upon minutes had passed as Leisel and Stefan cleaned his wounds, stitched them up and bandaged them accordingly. It was a tedious process, one which required delicacy and tenderness in the midst of torture and trauma. When all was fine and Jude surrendered to the jaws of sleep, Stefan had dragged Leisel to a long forgotten hallway, his muscles tensed with agitation as he fixed her with a hardened stare, making sure she knew what they were about to talk about. He crossed his arms and stared down at the woman, disapproving. “He’s a Brit. Our enemy, why’re you helping him?” He snapped without restraint, words venomous, his disdain for the man was apparent. “You know you’ll be killed if anyone finds out about this.” 

Leisel sneered at him in defiance, her hair lightly tousled, strands falling over her right eye. “He’s not just a soldier, okay? He’s human; like us and he is hurt, that’s all that matters right now, not his nationality or his identity.” Her voice wavered lightly, the deeply seated fear of being killed for such actions seeping through her benevolent exterior. Stefan opened his mouth to retaliate but rolled his eyes instead, pinching the bridge of his nose and beginning to pace back and forth, a contemplative look on his face. “Listen to me, Leisel. We can’t keep him here, if we do that we’re betraying everything we stand for.” 

Leisel paused for a moment mentally, hands balling tightly into fists, crescent shaped indents slithering their way into the palms of her hands. She averted her gaze to the ground, the sterile scent of the infirmary and the distant chatter and clinking of medical tools making itself known from the aggravating silence. “I know, but Stefan he’s been through too much. We can’t abandon him. He needs to rest. He needs support and who he is doesn’t matter. Let me help him, if anything happens I’ll take the blame for it.” She offered in exasperation, her hands loosening into their natural state as she looked at the irritated man with hopeful eyes. 

She had made her decision. Whatever happens, she would be the one to blame, not her family or her co-workers. She was choosing to help the enemy and she was going to see it through. No matter the consequence. She felt a sense of unease and anticipation settle within her, her gut twisting as she thought of her next actions, though her mind was made up. 

Morality above vengeance. 

Compassion outweighs detachment.

Stefan let out a sharp exhale, waving a dismissive hand at her. “Fine, but if anything happens it’s on you, you hear me?” He hissed through gritted teeth, his concern for the situation chewing away at his calculated nature. Stefan looked like he was seconds away from screaming, but then he merely turned on his heel and walked away, jaw clenched tightly in irritation that clutched onto every fibre of his person. Leisel sucked in some air, leaning against the wall as she was overcome with dizziness. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore, did she? Providing aid for an enemy soldier was enough to get her and her family killed. She couldn’t afford to drag out her thoughts like this, she needed to act. Maybe she could hide his uniform away and teach him some German to avoid suspicion, even if it was risky. Fabricating documentation was a last resort. 

And with that, she pushed herself off of the wall and made her way back to the room where Jude was currently unconscious, her steps filled with purpose and conviction. Once she entered the room, Leisel quietly sat down beside the hospital bed, leaning back and looking over at the man’s resting face. He seemed content despite the circumstances. Outside in the real world, in places more occupied by the population there were bombs detonating, people being persecuted and lives lost torturously. The chilling ringing of ears after a bomb elicited chaos within the cities, the disruption of vision as dust bit into and stung the eyes of civilians. The euthanization of those deemed unworthy of life, the forced labour of men, women and elderly indiscriminately. It was a genocide against man and it all started with the simmering yearning for revenge against the Allies. This tyranny that Germany was subjected to all started with the promise of sovereignty, of glory and of restoration. Everything cultivated at the hands of Adolf Hitler, a displeased Austrian turned war criminal. 

Inside the small infirmary was where tranquility resided, hidden away from the nauseating atrocities being committed elsewhere. Leisel was coaxed out of her ruminative state when Jude shifted, a small grunt scratching at his throat. His eyes slowly opened, taking in the unfamiliar environment he had found himself in. With reckless movements, he quickly jolted up, his eyes widening in disorientation as he took in Leisel’s form beside him, her hand on his arm. A small reassurance, though was it really a reassurance coming from someone he associates with terror? “Where am i?” He questioned, suspicion clouding his judgement, his hand instinctively reaching for a gun that wasn’t even there, fingers curling around air. Leisel urged him to lean back against the bed, moving some pillows behind his back for support as she eased him into a more relaxed position. “We met in the forest, remember? I helped you.” Leisel reminisced, her hand slowly extending to brush a stray strand of hair hanging over his forehead; her touch reverential. Jude stiffened momentarily at the contact before forcing himself to relax, his eyes searching for any sign of deception within her expression. When all he found was genuine kindness, he allowed himself to slightly lower his guard and for a few moments the two of them sat silently, soaking in the placid atmosphere, both drowning in their respective musings.

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16th April 1945, Bavaria, Germany.

Months had passed while Jude was recuperating, Leisel taking care of him in small ways, such as offering him food and water. However, the pungent aroma of war lingered in the air, refusing to dissipate, tinged with a sense of severity. He knew he needed to act. He couldn’t stay confined to his injuries forever, no matter how much he desired rest. His resolve strengthened with each passing moment, determination etched across his facial features as he decided to stand up, testing the weight on his legs. His right thigh was aching slightly, thankfully the pain was manageable, he had been through much worse before. He needed to find his men and help them, since that was who he was, was it not? A soldier through and through. A leader to the very end. 

He had talked to Leisel throughout these languidly passing days, both of them sharing their sentiments about their distaste for the Nazi’s and disapproval of Hitler’s methods of life, especially extermination of the undesirables. Once Jude was mostly healed, he inquired about a means of travel to Leisel, perhaps a horse since they didn’t have any cars around the infirmary. Naturally she was reluctant to agree, as she was aware that this would mark the departure of Jude and she didn’t want to let go of what they had, as small as it was. Though after some convincing he was able to persuade her to let him carry out his duty, which was to serve, and that included riding out to the Bavarian border where he assumed his men were, perhaps at a makeshift base. Jude knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he needed to try. 

So here he was, his military uniform neatly tucked into a bag which he had on his person in order to avoid being targeted and all he was wearing was a military-style shirt with pants, a simple jacket thrown on top to conserve warmth before he left for his indefinite journey to reunion. Leisel had been saddling up the horse he was to ride, a black stallion. His injuries had mostly healed, allowing him to remain uncompromised for the hardships ahead and maintain sharpness in movement. When Leisel had finished he sauntered over to her with calm, measured steps, nodding in gratitude at her help. He mounted the horse in one swift motion, patting the side of the stallion’s neck in appreciation for its beauty. 

“Are you sure about this, Jude?” Leisel pressed reluctantly, her body language tense and uncertain at the events unfolding before her. She didn’t entirely want Jude to leave, knowing he wasn’t in the best condition and also, their seemingly growing bond. Despite everything, she had become used to his steadfast company, and the sudden change left her rattled internally. In response to her inquiry, Jude nodded grimly, one hand clutching the reins of his travel companion, in which the horse huffed in response, shifting on its hooves. “I am. Leisel I promise you that this hell will be over, you hear me? And thank you. Truly, for everything.” The man countered softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It was as if he was afraid of what he was about to do, afraid of breaking whatever it was they had, but that’s the cost of war. You lose what you once had. After a beat Jude suddenly grinned mischievously, eyes glinting with a hint of mirth, a contradiction to everything happening around them. “If you want, once this is all over come to London, aye? Ask around for the son of Sir Edward Marshall and maybe you’ll find me.” 

Those were his last words to her, spoken with levity before he clicked his tongue and turned, coaxing the horse to begin moving, leaving Leisel to her humble infirmary and her thoughts. He had briefly looked back to stare at her for a few seconds, before returning to the task at hand, granted, butterflies tickled his gut as he galloped away, those words he had uttered veiled a sense of hopefulness for the future. The travel to the Bavarian border was difficult, the environment was littered with lush forests and crumbling rock formations. Jude had managed to evade a few scattered Nazi’s in his campaign by taking advantage of the bushes and multiple routes. The weather was leaden, the sky would weep tears of bitter raindrops. High above the ruination of Germany, the canopy of clouds which shrouded the sun from view seemed to project the despondency of the citizens and soldiers alike. The rain; a proxy to Hitler’s forthcoming collapse, dragging with it the end of his dictatorship and totalitarian regime which eradicated the autonomy of life. It was now the 18th of April and Jude had been galloping for about two days now on horseback. His eyes shone momentarily with relief as he could see a temporary base, and standing there was most of his squad, discussing amongst themselves, their voices merely mumbles from where he was. 

“Finn!” He called out to one of his men that was clearly in view, his voice notably holding a lighter tone, one of relief and slight weariness. At the sound of his voice multiple men whipped their heads around to face him, watching Jude slow the stallion down to a stop. It was his squad. His men, all of them seemed all right, no injuries from what he could tell. He dismounted from his horse, not bothering to tie it up anywhere and approached the group of eight men, a bright smile on his face, and gradual disbelieving chuckles left the lips of multiple comrades. They were shocked, bewildered even, their expressions contrasting comically with the urgency around them. The hasted gaits of soldiers meandering back and forth around the base in preparation for the inevitable.

Jude Marshall was supposed to be K.I.A, but here he was in the flesh, all happy smiles and ready to complete his service and fight alongside his men. It was a moment that would have suited a story more than real life, but it was happening. All eight men welcomed him with open arms, some of them ruffling his hair and patting his back, telling the man how they were surprised to have him back, but also how good it felt to finally have their leader with them. “Thought you were gone forever, Sarge. Almost planned your funeral.” Finn joked smoothly, a broad smile gracing his facial features, one that he seemingly was unable to restrain. Jude shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “No, no. The funeral can be on hold for a few years. Right now i need a room so I can get out of these civvies.” He announced with ease, expectantly looking at his squad who then nodded in sync, understanding that their Sergeant needed to get into proper dress. 

After a few quick greetings and acknowledgements Jude walked past them, deeper into the temporary base in order to find his commanding officer and request a room, or a tent, whatever they had would have worked. Once he did find his commanding officer, Jude subsequently saluted, recognising the importance of delivering his respects to the man. Moments later a room had been issued for him to change into his uniform and so he strode over, passing a few other soldiers and officers on his way there. His hand pushed the door open, surveying the sparseness and lack of personal touch. It was fitting, in a sense. He let out a deep breath, throwing the bag he was carrying onto the small bed in the corner of the room. He was beyond glad to finally be back. It was a blessing in his eyes. He wasted no time discarding his jacket and the rest of his clothing in favour of his uniform. In reverence, he took his service cap from the bag and placed it on his head, walking towards a mirror near the bed and staring at his reflection. 

Head held high, shoulder squared and his posture straight. It reminded him of his jubilant days as a mere recruit. He was internally proud of himself for how far he had come within his military career. From a timid private to a respected Sergeant of eight men, it was a dream he made true and kept close to his heart. With a final huff of breath Jude neatly put his civilian clothing into the bag, all folded, before leaving it on the bed and striding out of the room to go back to his squad, to relish the few moments of camaraderie that would be granted in anticipation of the final push into Berlin. As he caught sight of his squad once more, he suppressed a laugh, watching them all smoke cigarettes in a small cluster, chatting idly amongst themselves. Clapping one of them on the shoulder, Jude made his presence known, capturing the undivided attention of them all. They all brought him up to speed on the recent events which had unfolded during the months of his absence, some more enthusiastically than others. Each of them sincerely apologised for their actions of leaving him in the forest all those months ago. Jude, on the other hand, knew they only did the most practical and rational thing, so he didn’t hold it against them and assured each and every one of his men that he held no ill feelings of resentment towards them. 

Jude and his men bathed in the lightheartedness that encompassed them. Nevertheless, that comfort was short-lived, as Jude had been summoned to a makeshift debrief room to discuss further development with the rest of the officers. Sergeants, Lieutenants, Captains of different countries and all that bollocks that came with it. He instructed his squad to go check their gear and have a bit of banter as he went his seperate ways to the debrief room, mentally preparing himself for the chaos that would ensue in the coming days. Upon entering the room his senses were immediately bombarded. The scent of cigarettes and cologne sneaking into his nose, and around the room were discussions of further advancements towards Berlin. In the centre of the room rested a large map, pins driven into certain areas to emphasise enemy positions, planned routes and objectives. The atmosphere was tense, digging into his nerves like nails to soft flesh while he seated himself down, exchanging a few greetings to the officers he knew.

Before he knew it, Jude himself was being addressed by his commanding officer, who was tapping a specific location on the map adamantly. “Sergeant Marshall, you’ll be setting up your position in the remains of an apartment complex overlooking the Reichstag. A high-ranking German officer has been spotted coordinating resistance efforts there. You’ll ensure he doesn’t see another sunrise. Use the building’s crumbling facade for cover. This is a critical strike—take him out, and the rest will fall like birds.” 

Jude listened carefully to the instructions and the murmured agreements which followed soon after, his fingers laced together on his lap with one leg resting over the other in a relaxed yet alert position. He had given a nod of approval, understanding his role perfectly. “Understood, sir. We’ll need to move through this alley here and onto the building adjacent—it’s got the best cover. We’ll take positions by 0400 hours.” His voice was unwavering, coiled with an intense resolution that dictated the man in his entirety as he gestured to the same location which was being continuously tapped. Hours ticked on and Jude found himself leaving the room, a few officers clapping his shoulder in recognition of his return after months of radio silence. 

Outside, his men were gearing up for the journey ahead, sharing words of reassurance and encouragement to heighten the morale. They were a tight-knit group, all of them had been in the same squad for about eighteen months and had become closer due to such circumstances. Jude really was fortunate to be in the company of such men. They were jokesters, sure, but they were fierce when the time called for it, and he loved them. Indefinitely. With the sense of foreboding hanging above, he quickly descended a few steps and joined his comrades and with a practiced motion, one of the rifles resting by a crate was slung over his shoulder, its weight grounding him in the reality of what lay ahead.

Jude occupied himself with checking over other aspects of his gear and switching a few layers for a more camouflaged appearance. He listened to the conversations happening around him, occasionally chiming in to banter and reconnect after months separated. 

“I don’t feel like being shot today.” Groaned one of his comrades named Maximilian, who had checked his ammunition for what seemed like the umpteenth time in less than an hour. 

“No one does, Max. Might aswell blow yourself up with a minefield if you don’t fancy a hole in your body.” Jude retorted coolly, which earned a few snickers from the others around him. He felt comfortable, at peace, even. Which didn’t make sense given the actions they were going to take, which would probably shape the future of nations to come. As silence ensued, the only sounds were the clattering of gear and the dreaded sighs of weary men who merely wanted to see the end of a reign of tyranny and oppression. Jude stared off into the distance, momentarily lost in the sinking quiescence. His thoughts digressed from the upcoming mission to Leisel. He wondered how she was doing and whether she might genuinely take him up on the offer of meeting in London after everything dies down, though as quickly as those thoughts caressed his conscience, it faded into a mere afterthought. His contemplations were predominated by musings of the war. He felt giddy in a nervous fashion, knowing the immense pressure placed upon him to perform and execute that German officer by the Reichstag. 

His mind shifted to the gallant soldiers who sacrificed everything, including their own transient lives for the sake of their nations, he knew they would never be forgotten. Their determination in the face of unsuspecting odds, their courage when staring down the barrel of death itself. It was all worthy of remembrance. No matter who they were, their social status, their rank within the military or their upbringing, they would forever be viewed as heroes who defied the laws of the land, along with the medics who survived through sleepless nights of criticality to help those who were wounded. Jude would be the one to honour them through killing a Nazi of importance, that, he would make sure of. 

When all was accounted for, and everyone was set to move out, Jude and his squad made their way towards one of the jeeps. Their steps held a sense of safety and finality, the cold metal of their rifles was a familiar comfort, one that reminded them of the reality that was to come. Jude climbed into the jeep, along with his comrades. As they rode out towards Berlin, the sounds of gunshots in the distance became piercingly clear. He gripped the sling of his rifle more tightly, his chest rising and falling in deep breaths as he maintained his cool. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions overtake his pragmatism, it was too much of a risk. Leaning his head back, eyes momentarily fluttered shut as the gravity of the situation seeped through steadily. He wasn’t entirely in his uniform, that had been switched out for something that would give him a bit of closure, to allow him to remain unseen. 

“I’m kinda scared, Sarge.” A low voice mumbled from beside him. It was Finn, ofcourse. The youngest soldier in the squad. Jude cracked his eyes open, letting out an amused scoff as he turned to look at the younger lad, who seemed queasy. “You’ll be alright, man. We'll get through this together. Okay? All of us.” 

Those words were spoken aloud, for the eight men present to hear and internalise. They were all going to survive this war, just like how they’ve survived everything else that's barricaded them in the past. This was just another obstacle to overcome, another hardship that would see the light at the other end. This wasn’t just another mission, though —— this was a matter of international peace and survival. Stepping out of the jeep after successfully evading the random German soldiers scattered around, Jude gestured for his soldiers to go to the centre of Berlin where all the action was happening. They needed to follow orders with precision. Jude’s men would be at the frontlines with the others, with Jude above the chaos, ready to snipe. Without delay, the man made his way towards the designated building which was adjacent to the Reichstag, climbing up the dilapidated staircase, dodging any plummeting debris that came his way. Narrowly missing a few holes in the floors, he finally got onto the rooftop of the apartment complex, overlooking the destroyed remnants of Berlin.

Setting up his sniper rifle for it’s intended use, Jude revelled in the feel of the glacial metallic of his gun. The way the wind screamed as if hinting at the events which were about to take place in that very moment. All around him were the yells of soldiers and shots ringing out, the unfortunate civilians who were within the area collapsing without mercy. The cost of war was great, wasn’t it? But it was never justifiable. He adjusted the scope of his rifle, making the necessary arrangements to suit the weather conditions and distance between him and the perceived target. Thankfully, his wounds from months ago had mostly healed, leaving him physically capable. Jude slowly lowered himself onto his stomach, leaving his form prone. His rifle was stabilised on the rooftop surface and seconds later Jude peered through the scope, the outside world being blocked out in favour of his singular mission. All other external noises were muted, his breathing slowing to become more controlled, along with the movements of his body. 

Minutes passed, with Jude adjusting the scope and fine-tuning whenever he needed to completely concentrate on the Nazi officer. Patience and rationality were the key to a successful snipe. He was aware of this, therefore he waited, seconds ticking by with a tight, festering potency. His finger on the trigger released a soft, slow pressure as he locked onto the opposition's head, aiming to drive a bullet right between the man’s eyes, while doing so he breathed a slow, measured exhale, using his breathing to stabilise his actions. His muscles were tense as the bullet was released and the shot was fired. The rifle recoiled and yet the Sergeant made no move to immediately get up for exfiltration. He persistently watched through the scope, his eyes watching carefully as the officer fell to the ground, the surrounding German soldiers rushing to his aid, though he died the second the bullet was released. 

Slowly, Jude reached for his small walkie-talkie he had for short radio communications, bringing the device to his lips before he quietly reverberated two, heavy words. 

“Target down.” 

Consequently he had ended the life of a prominent Nazi. Perhaps the world would steadily stroll towards prosperity and freedom these coming days, months and years. Only time would tell, but Sergeant Jude Marshall knew his efforts would not be in vain, and with that knowledge he was untroubled, ready for the future.