The Battle of Ramelle was like if the ground cracked open and hell spilled out. Private First Class Toynbe was in the middle of it all, it seemed. Everyone was displacing and falling back like crazy sons of bitches, fighting the Germans tooth and nail with what little firepower they could muster. They'd taken half of the Comp B and mines that he'd used to wire the bridge with to make sticky bombs to blow the tracks off German Panzer tanks and plant mines for the German infantry that was trying to advance. But it still wasn't enough. The remaining soldiers had fallen back to the edge of the bridge, including Toynbe. For a moment, he thought he was going to make it. Then, the force of a bullet hitting him sent him forward, searing pain exploded in his lower back as he fell. He felt the blood soak his uniform before he fully registered what was happening. He lay on the ground, writhing in pain as chaos raged around him.

...

Toynbe had accepted his fate at this point. He lay still on the ground, blood pooling around him. He was going to die, wasn't he? He was never going to get to go home and see his mother... But his thoughts were interrupted by an explosion. A German Panzer tanks had been blown to bits by something. Toynbe heard the unmistakable sound of planes. He craned his neck to look up. A P-51 Mustang. That meant reinforcements. The ruined town was suddenly swarmed with heavily-armed American soldiers, tanks, jeeps, and ambulances. Then he heard footsteps approaching him. Then hands, gentle hands lifting him up and packing his wound, wrapping it in bandages, giving him morphine. The last thing he registered before the morphine started to take effect on him was being lifted into an ambulance. Maybe he wasn't going to die after all.