Hours ago, they were just in warfare, and now, they were holed up in this farmhouse. They were on the border between the acclaimed land of the Krauts and Americans in France. Holed up with Pierson, Sergeant Murphy who seemed at ease by his side, and the rest of the crew.

The farmhouse was covered in dust, furniture turned over, but that was to be expected. Murphy's crew cleared out the bodies. Zussman was shunned away from helping by Pierson. He cleaned the guns instead. Aiello made no comment, but it did seem like he wanted to make one.

Daniels was told to keep an eye on Zussman, and that's what he did between writing in his journal. Playful banter echoed through the farmhouse from the troops as beams of sun lit up the rooms through the broken wood of the roof and walls.

Stiles was looking back at a picture, well several. They'd been fighting for weeks anyway. Zussman was sitting, making conversation with Aiello. Pierson gave Zussman a look every now and then before returning his words to Murphy, as if they were gossiping.

Daniels had found a dusty armchair to sit in, a destroyed part of the wall and roof made it the perfect viewing spot of the chaos that had unfolded. Zussman pulled up a wooden chair just a few feet away.