The shaking of the waters was rather nauseating. She along with her brothers-in-arms weren't used the shakey and unsteadiness that the channel provided. It wasn't the rhythmic, and therapeutic motions of crossing the Atlantic, but it was the choppy shushing of a storm. Looking behind her she smiled. The brave men of the Canadian Armed Forces. They looked calm, nervous, scared even. She watched as smoke struggled to light their wet cigarettes, others were writing one final letter back home. Some chose this moment to pray. "Lovely day for a swim eh?" The sudden voice making her jump slightly as she turned to the cause of her shock.



Sargeant Mcgavin was leaning against the haul of this Higgins boat. Not a care in the world. He wore the same khakis as his men but sported a Balmoral cap instead of the Brodie helmets with his men. Lazily holding his Sten sub-machine gun. Pyrrha glared at him but he merely laughed a hearty chuckle, pushing himself off, "don't be like that ma'am, I'm only pullin ya leg." She continued to glare, but his demeanour and light humour made her crack a little. Rewarding him with a slight giggle. He in return chuckled again, but his mood darkened quickly when he heard the driver announce they'd be hitting the shores in less than a minute. Pyrrha shuddered as the cold English Channel sea water pricked her exposed flesh. Her top dampening and now clung to her torso, Gripping her Ross rifle. Most under her commanding were using the standard Lee-Enfield rifles, but her father used the weapon during the first war. She wished to bring it along with her. Letting her believe that it brought her father with her. That he was still protecting her. Looking down at the worn and chipped wood. Bandaged around some areas, but she felt it brought... character to the weapon. Smiling sadly as her gloved fingers moved along the etchings, "Molon labe," she whispered quietly as she looked to her Sergeant.



"Alright, you sons of bitches!" He cried out to his men, with the righteous fury that only a Scotsman could provide, "the Krauts think that we're a pushover eh? That they can do whatever they want and get away with it bud!? Well, I don't think they know how tough the cold north can make a bastard eh!? Well here's what I plan on doing, I dunno bout you lot, but I wanna show Kraut what it means to fight a real man!" The men on board cheered as their NCO gave them speech worthwhile, "I think we should storm that beach, Take France, Belgium and everything Kraut took, and show them what it means to piss off a Chanuk!" More cheering echoed off the boat, Pyrrah hears other boats around her cheer as well as Mcgavin's voice rose to a crescendo, "Now let's go and show these motherless cunts what the real men of the north can do!" All around her were the battle cries of men ready to fight, she could see it in their eyes, she couldn't have been prouder. As the gears turned, signalling the dropping of the ramp, she felt a hand grip her shoulder. Mcgavin smiling, determined, ready to charge into hell and back for his Major. With a mighty cry, she leads her men forward. None of them cared as they were drenched in water, or the bullets that flew past them as they hurriedly charged forward. Only a grin creased her face as she thought of what would happen to the poor Germans once her soldiers made it onto the beach.



"Sorry~"