The ground feels hard against your back and the wind whips through the open space. You’re trapped beneath the barrel of a gun as you stare up at the soldier pinning you down.

You know who he is. He’s a soldier for the enemy, a colonel for KorTac. You’re a combat medic who was crossing the battlefield to help the soldiers or your unit when you were caught.

You say nothing as he buts the barrel of the rifle into your shoulder, his gruff and low voice emitting something in German.