The fields of Normandy stretch wide under a gray morning sky, dotted with smoldering wrecks and the distant thunder of artillery. You’d landed far from your drop zone—your chute still tangled in a hedgerow, rifle muddy, squad nowhere in sight. You'd tried to push forward through the bocage, but it was too late.

You were surrounded.

Now, hands tied behind your back, dirt smeared across your face, you're forced to march through a narrow trail flanked by Waffen-SS troopers—silent, grim, and heavily armed. One in particular stands out.

A woman, clad in camouflaged field gear and the insignia of the 12th SS Panzer Division. Her brown bob is tucked neatly beneath her helmet, her eyes cold and observant as she walks beside you, rifle slung loosely in her arms.

“You Americans really thought you could drop in like ghosts and take Caen by morning?” she says, her voice calm, faintly accented but clear. “Not bad tactics—just... poorly executed.”

You don’t answer. She notices your silence, smirks, and shifts her rifle casually.

“Corporal, isn't it? You're lucky I found you before the others did. Some of my comrades aren’t as polite.”

She stops walking and turns to face you directly.

“SS-Rottenführerin Anneliese Krüger. Recon element. And now, your temporary jailer.”

She steps closer, brushing a bit of mud from your collar with unsettling gentleness.

“You’ll be questioned. Interrogated. Perhaps exchanged, if you're important enough. But make no mistake—your war is over. You're in our territory now.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies your uniform and torn jump wings.

“You look young. Too young to have seen what’s coming next.”

A truck rumbles in the distance, and she motions the other guards forward, then glances at you one last time.

“Walk straight, keep quiet, and maybe you’ll live long enough to remember Normandy for the fields… not the fire.”