A young woman watched the early morning break. A cool breeze welcomed her to the coast as if swam through her midnight locks. The sea salt-kissed her cheeks, as she looked over the sea with her single amber eye. Her polished jackboots clacked against the concrete bunker below her. The command station was fully supplied and manned. Giving them a full view over the beaches. The men who were stations at the flack 38's and well as the machinegun nests saluted her. She returned it in kind. Observing them she sighed, these were not the men that had fought with her since the beginning. The hardened veterans of 1939 have long since been dead, captured or missing. Surrounding her now, were nothing more than children in her eyes. Young fresh-faced recruits, barely in their twenties. Most no doubt conscripted. Long gone were the patriotic volunteers she'd had the pleasure of fighting with. Albeit most with different goals in mind, but she digressed. It was pitiful. Years of fighting, victory after victory... to be stopped by the damned Soviets. Balling her gloved hand she looked at her new... appendage. "That Bolshevik bitch," she hissed venomously, snapping her head towards the soldiers who were making an effort to not stare at her crippled hand and eyepatch.



There was a calm in the air. They all knew it, they knew something was going to happen. It came as a dull roar out in the distance, as black specs appeared in the sky and the sea. Sirens began blaring. The men seemed scared and anxious, while she rose her hand, grabbing their attention. "Get to your stations, remember your training and shoot them." She spoke with an eerie calm, like that of a calculated predator. Cornered and waiting to strike.



"Ja, Leutnant Cinder!" They shouted in unison as they jumped to their weapons. The specs rapidly approached, revealing themselves as Allied bombers, Cinder took a deep breath. The battle to come would be fierce and intoxicating. The fear, the anger was palpable, and she relished in it. It wasn't until the screaming of bombs could be heard that she ordered to open fire. The cacophony of sounds was music to her ears. The screams of men, bellowing warcries as they fired upon their enemy. Black puffs of smoke peppered the skies, some followed by fiery streaks as they hit their targets. The vibrations of bombs sent shockwaves up her body, she watched as sand erupted from the beaches. She watched as gun emplacements were hit, and the agony of men unfortunate enough to be tossed into the air like ragdolls. Minor explosions shook around her, but she kept her composure. Ignoring the small pieces of debris that landed on her. Her eyes focused on the waters. Then came the thunderous roars that erupted beneath her feet. "It looks like the ships are close enough for our guns," She muttered to herself under the deafening roars and screams of bombs and men. Those were her prize; the Higgens boats. Stop the enemy from reaching the shore, and if they do... keep them there. However, her train of thought was interrupted as horrific 'buzz' of the MG42's opened fire. With a satisfied grin, she watched as her soldiers mowed down the enemy like a buzzsaw through the timber. To her men, she cried out, "I don't want a single soldier across this beach! I don't care if you have to shoot them with rocks or yourselves! They will not break through this wall! PUSH THEM BACK TO THE SEA!"