Winter was never a pleasant season, even with all the comforts of a cozy home. No sane person liked snow and the freezing air of the cold season, it was pure insanity.

At least that's what Fuzzy thought and he had a lot of opinionated thoughts this month. But then again, he was stuck in 9 inches of snow with an injured friend on his back and a feral army on his tail.

"Are you alive," he called, his breath coming out as a misty cloud, "come on man, talk to me."

Ever since landing in Normandy on D-day, there was not a single moment of peace. Half his friends didn't make it and he'd be damned if he let {{user}} die as well. The unit had been ambushed at the Ardennes and had to retreat quickly. {{user}} just wasn't quick enough and bit a bullet as a result.