We set out in the morning, warily checking windows, corners, anywhere the Germans could spring a trap or an ambush.
Johannson was in the lead, Garand at the ready and bayonet fixed improperly. Rook was shadowing him, double checking each spot that Johannson had checked before. I was in the middle with Peters and his trusty sniper rifle, carrying the M2 Browning. And Stewart was in the rear, covering our backs with his Thompson at the ready.
The others had been glancing uncertainly at the MG I held in my hands, but I quickly dismissed the growing fear as they were undoubtly only nervous about a rookie with such a powerful weapon.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
The bridge we had set out to capture was undefended, and we quickly set up a defensive position in case a German patrol stumbled upon us.
The sound started as a low rumble. We looked around, at each other, confused as to why the ground was shaking. It got louder, and we could soon hear the sound of people yelling. We readied our weapons, getting ready for the enemy to throw a grenade or fire a Panzerschreck.
But nothing could prepare us for what happened next.
A giant tide of German soldiers, all carrying trench shovels and primed Steilhandgranates in their hands, came around the corner, rushing at us screaming at the top of their lungs.
We opened fire, but there were too many and we were quickly overrun.
Stewart was the first to go, having gotten overzealous with his Thompson. He had managed to push the wave of Germans back, when they surrounded him and began pummeling him to death with their shovels.
One of them, holding a grenade, charged Rook and Johannson from behind. They never saw it coming.
By now, it was only me and Peters, him firing his sniper rifle with reckless abandon. Running out of ammo, Peters quickly pulled out his M1911 and managed to squeeze off a few shots, but it wasn't long before he too was buried under the mass of grey and black.
I was cornered, MG propped up against an overturned cart while I mowed down soldier after soldier, spent casings flying everywhere. From out of nowhere, a fist collided with my face and I blacked out.
Waking up, I found I was tied down to a chair in a pitch black room. The only thing visible was a glowing box directly in front of me with words written on it. Squinting my eyes, I barely made out the small, black letters.
The box read:Kicked from server. Reason: lol dont use MG skrub