A heavily guarded German camp lay tense beneath the night sky, its perimeter bristling with armed patrols and reinforced bunkers. The air itself felt tight, as if even the soldiers knew something had gone terribly wrong. Inside a command tent, the tension finally snapped.
Boom!
With a violent crash, a porcelain cup shattered against the ground, sending dark coffee splashing in every direction. The rich aroma filled the air, but not a single man spared it a glance. All attention was fixed on the officer at the center of the storm.
The German noncommissioned officer in a dark green coat stood rigid, his face twisted with fury as he glared at the men before him. "Damn Yankees," he roared, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Where did that man come from?"
Around him, several other officers stood stiffly, their expressions equally grim. The recent defeat had cost them dearly, forcing their front line to collapse and wiping out more than a month of hard-fought progress. For the commander overseeing the sector, it was nothing short of humiliation.
Boots pounded outside as soldiers rushed in, dragging several noncommissioned officers into the tent. They were shoved forward without ceremony, collapsing onto the ground in a disorganized heap. The commander's cold gaze swept over them, heavy and suffocating.
Under that pressure, the men's faces drained of color. One by one, they dropped to their knees, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. No one dared to meet his eyes.
"Your Excellency Commander," one of them stammered, his voice cracking under the strain, "this isn't our fault. That man… he's too cunning. We couldn't—"
Bang!
The gunshot echoed like thunder in the enclosed space, cutting him off mid-sentence. The man's body jerked violently before collapsing face-first onto the ground, blood spreading beneath him.
Without even lowering his pistol, the commander shifted his aim to the next officer. The barrel still smoked faintly, the smell of gunpowder mixing with the spilled coffee.
"Spare me!" the second man cried, panic overtaking him as he scrambled backward. "I've served the empire faithfully, I—"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three clean shots ended his plea. The remaining officers flinched, their faces frozen in horror as the bodies hit the ground in rapid succession.
The commander's expression didn't change. He looked down at the corpses with nothing but disgust, then spat on the blood-soaked floor. "The German Empire has no use for trash who shirk responsibility and beg for mercy."
Silence fell over the tent, thick and suffocating. The remaining officers stood rigid, none daring to speak or even breathe too loudly. Fear hung in the air, sharp enough to cut.
Finally, the commander turned his head, his gaze settling on the one man who hadn't shown panic. "I need reinforcements," he said, his tone now cold and controlled, as if the outburst had never happened. "Immediately."
…
Boom… boom…
The battlefield roared once more, artillery fire tearing through the night with relentless force. Locke, now clad in a major's uniform, tightened the strap of his helmet as he peered over the dirt barrier toward the German defensive lines. His eyes were sharp, focused, and far too calm for someone about to lead a charge.
Behind him stood a group of soldiers armed with submachine guns, their faces tense but determined. These were fresh recruits, hastily assembled by the U.S. military for this desperate push. Each of them had already accepted the reality of what lay ahead.
This was a gamble.
If they succeeded, the front line might finally break. If they failed, the army would be forced to retreat and dig in, waiting for reinforcements that might arrive too late. There was no middle ground.
The bombardment continued as dusk deepened into night, the sky flickering with distant flashes like a dying storm. Gradually, the intensity of the artillery fire began to fade, leaving behind a fragile, fleeting silence.
Locke felt it immediately.
Without hesitation, he moved.
Breaking from cover, he surged forward, his body cutting through the darkness with explosive speed. Behind him, the stormtroopers followed, spreading out in a wide formation as they charged toward the German lines.
Gunfire erupted.
Three sharp shots rang out from the flank, drawing attention away from the center. The distraction worked perfectly, pulling enemy focus just long enough for Locke to close the distance.
He reached the first defensive line in seconds.
Vaulting over the dirt barrier, he landed silently inside the trench. A German soldier stood just ahead, hurriedly changing his magazine, completely unaware of the threat descending on him.
Locke didn't hesitate.
He moved like a shadow, crossing the distance in an instant. The soldier looked up too late, his eyes widening as he fumbled with his weapon. A flash of silver cut through the dim light.
The dagger pierced his throat cleanly.
The man's body froze, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to scream. No sound came out. Within seconds, he collapsed.
More American soldiers poured into the trench behind Locke, their submachine guns blazing as they engaged the disoriented German troops. The confined space turned into a brutal melee, gunfire and shouting echoing off the earthen walls.
The front line descended into chaos.
Locke didn't stay still. He moved through the trench system with practiced precision, weaving through tunnels and passageways as the battle raged around him. Every movement was deliberate, every step calculated.
Then—
Boom!
A gunshot cracked through the noise.
Pain exploded in his chest, sharp and sudden. Locke's body tensed as he instinctively dove behind a nearby bunker, his mind snapping into focus. He turned his gaze toward the source of the shot and spotted a German noncommissioned officer firing steadily from a distance.
Without hesitation, Locke reached for his belt.
His fingers closed around a grenade. He gauged the distance in an instant, then threw it with a controlled burst of strength.
The grenade cut through the air at an unnatural speed, far beyond what a normal soldier could achieve.
A heartbeat later—
Boom!
The explosion tore through the enemy position, sending bodies flying. The officer and the soldiers around him were thrown aside, their formation shattered instantly.
Locke didn't stop.
He pulled another grenade, then another, launching them in rapid succession. Each explosion carved a path forward, clearing the way as he advanced toward the deeper defensive structures.
The ground shook violently as another massive blast echoed across the battlefield.
Instinctively, Locke glanced back.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
The soldiers who had charged alongside him were gone, swallowed by a storm of artillery fire. Explosions rained down without mercy, tearing through friend and foe alike.
The Germans had fired on their own position.
The ruthless decision halted the American assault instantly. Survivors scrambled to retreat, their formation collapsing as they fled under the renewed bombardment. Within moments, the Germans reclaimed their defensive line, their artillery roaring back to life as if nothing had happened.
Locke forced himself to breathe, suppressing the rapid pounding of his heart.
He was alone.
Deep inside enemy territory, surrounded on all sides, he was now a solitary target in a battlefield that showed no mercy. It didn't matter how strong he was—if he exposed himself, a hail of bullets would tear him apart before he could react.
But something worked in his favor.
With the American forces pushed back, the Germans seemed less concerned about internal security. Their attention shifted outward, focused on holding the line rather than searching for intruders.
They never imagined one had already slipped through.
Hidden behind a mound of dirt, Locke steadied himself and listened. The chaos of battle masked his presence, giving him the opportunity he needed.
A shadow approached.
As the German soldier passed by, Locke moved.
His hand shot out, locking around the man's throat with crushing force. In one smooth motion, he dragged him back and twisted.
Crack.
The body went limp instantly.
Locke didn't rush. He paused, listening carefully for any reaction. When none came, he moved quickly, stripping the uniform from the corpse and pulling it over his own.
The fit was surprisingly good.
He adjusted the coat, brushing off the dirt with a faint, satisfied expression. Then, without hesitation, he stepped out from cover and began walking toward the heart of the German camp as if he belonged there.
…
Back at the American command post, the situation had deteriorated rapidly.
The returning stormtroopers stumbled in, their uniforms scorched and their faces covered in grime. Many were wounded. Some didn't make it back at all.
A colonel stood at the front, his face pale as he stared toward the distant German lines. What had once been within reach now felt impossibly far away.
Before he could gather his thoughts, a sharp slap cracked across the air.
He was knocked to the ground.
Major General Pilder stood over him, his expression dark with anger. The opportunity they had fought for had slipped through their fingers, shattered in a single failed assault.
The atmosphere turned heavy as more senior officers arrived, drawn by the urgency of the situation. The pressure mounted, and the question of retreat loomed closer with every passing second.
Then, suddenly—
A soldier stepped forward.
Covered in dirt and soot, he snapped into a rigid salute, his eyes burning with urgency. "Report!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. "Major Locke has penetrated deep into enemy territory!"
"What?"
....
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