Chapter Twelve: The Assault Begins

The sun dipped below the horizon, and after the crimson glow of the evening faded from the sky, night arrived as expected. Once darkness fell, the Germans, just as they had in the past few days, quietly withdrew from the front lines. Meanwhile, the temporary American encampment was coming alive with a silent energy.

Over a hundred young American soldiers, clad in combat uniforms and armed with assault rifles, stood in formation. Each carried a military-green backpack loaded with ammunition and supplies, standing at attention with textbook posture. The five units preparing for simultaneous raids on separate German outposts had been mustered at different times, their staggered schedules necessary because the targets lay in various directions. Had they all assembled at once, the open grounds of the temporary camp would have been overwhelmed by the ranks of thousands.

Fury had already gathered the hundred men under his command and was briefing them on the particulars of tonight’s mission. “I know some of you are fresh from the training base,” he barked. “So listen up and remember every word. Don’t drag us down tonight!”

“On the battlefield, anyone who hesitates or disobeys orders—I won’t bother warning you with a court-martial. I’ll put a hole in your forehead myself!”

Fury stood alone before the formation, a stark contrast to his collected demeanor at headquarters. His dark face was grim, and the single eye that remained was as cold and predatory as a wolf’s.

The assembled soldiers fell silent under his gaze. Toward the rear of the unit, a young man held his stance but cast his eyes left and right, as if searching for someone.

A fellow recruit noticed and whispered, “George, this isn’t the training base. Don’t daydream.”

“I know,” George muttered back. “Have you seen Kyle? He was sent to the front a few days ago. He might be here in this camp.”

The other recruit grumbled, “Kyle? He might already be dead. Doesn’t matter how good he was in training; the battlefield is a different world.”

“Let’s hope he makes it,” George said, clenching his fists. He’d always been among the best in physical ability and skill, but at the training base, Kyle had constantly outshone him.

“Who?!” Fury’s voice snapped through the night, startling George, who quickly looked forward—only to realize the sergeant wasn’t speaking to him.

“It’s me.” Out beyond the reach of the floodlights, a lithe figure emerged from the darkness, approaching the formation.

As the young man’s striking face came into the light, many of the recruits gasped, nearly losing their composure. Kyle?

George’s eyes widened with disbelief. As proud as he was, he could never forget the young man now standing before them. In just a week, Kyle had astonished every professional instructor, shattered every individual record at the training base, and set new scores with pistol, rifle, sniper rifle, and even rocket launcher. Even after he’d left for the front, his legend grew, with stories spreading and growing with each retelling. Instructors who were otherwise harsh often used his name to admonish the other recruits.

“Silence!” Fury’s voice cut through the murmurs, his single eye sweeping the company to restore order.

Kyle was unencumbered—no heavy pack, just an assault rifle slung over his shoulder, a Nepalese kukri in a leather sheath at his waist, and a small pistol holstered on either thigh. Among the assembled soldiers, he was the lightest equipped.

He walked up to stand beside Fury, his cold demeanor unwavering in the face of so many eyes.

As the men wondered at his presence, Fury introduced him without preamble: “This is Corporal Kyle, one of your commanding officers tonight. For this mission, you’ll follow our orders to the letter. Understood?”

“Understood!” the soldiers replied in unison. Not one of them would dare say otherwise.

“Corporal… Kyle?” George was already stunned at the sight of him; hearing his rank, he looked down in shame, hoping Kyle wouldn’t recognize him. The recruit who’d spoken with George felt as though he’d been slapped. “I was wrong,” he muttered. “A monster is a monster, no matter where you put him.”

“Is it time to move?” Kyle asked Fury. He’d spent precious time learning to master a newly drawn card, arriving just as the mission was about to begin.

“Yes, it’s time,” Fury confirmed, glancing at his instrument. With a wave of his hand, he called out, “All soldiers! Follow the trucks—advance at a trot to the target!”

No sooner had he finished than Fury and Kyle climbed into a waiting military vehicle. The rugged truck roared to life and led the way out of the encampment into the wilds.

This raid was not a frontal assault; instead, the troops would skirt enemy detection with a wide sweep, heading for the forested hills beyond the open ground.

Upon reaching the designated location, Fury and Kyle abandoned their vehicle and led the hundred soldiers up into the hills, advancing through the dense forest under cover of darkness. Without accurate intelligence on the German position, such a maneuver would have been reckless, but with solid information, they could strike deep.

“Once we’re over this ridge, we’ll be close to the enemy’s transfer station. Pass it back: everyone on alert. If you spot the enemy, don’t engage—hold position and wait for orders,” Kyle commanded coolly. Though it was his first time leading troops, he spoke with calm authority.

Beside him, Fury frowned. “Kyle, something feels off.”

“Hm?” Kyle looked over, surprised.

Fury shone his flashlight over the map. “Look. Once we cross this ridge, we’re not far from the combat zone. But we’re far from the German main base. This isn’t a logical spot for a supply station.”

“You think our intelligence is fake?” Kyle’s tone grew serious.

“Hard to say. Let’s keep moving. Even if it’s a trap, we can still retreat safely from here.” With that, they pressed on, leading the men over the mountain.

When Kyle and Fury, at the head of the formation, parted the last thicket, the sight before them made both men freeze.

Below, a circular wire fence enclosed a hundred-meter stretch of wilderness. Pillboxes with mounted guns stood every ten meters along the perimeter. Within, searchlights swept the grounds, and the shapes of many patrolling German soldiers could be seen.

“My God, is this the ‘small transfer station’ our intel described?” Fury’s mouth hung open in shock.

“The location matches the report,” Kyle replied, still composed but inwardly cursing. “But the target is nothing like what we expected.”

This was no mere outpost—it was a full-scale enemy stronghold.