Chapter 4
Noah rolled his eyes in mock annoyance but couldn't help smiling at Duncan's smug expression. "Yeah, yeah, you're the favorite," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure Brody is just green with envy."
Duncan nodded, puffing his chest out proudly. "Yeah, I was the first one to hold her hand. And that's something Brody will never get to do."
He chuckled, remembering the moment he had held Courtney's hand. It was a small but significant memory that he cherished.
Noah raised an eyebrow, a slight smile on his face. "You're pretty smug about that," he remarked, teasing him. "I guess holding someone's hand is a big deal to you, huh?
Duncan's expression softened as he spoke, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone.
"Yeah, it is a big deal to her," he said quietly. "She was never really allowed to be around boys, especially not boys like me. But I would sneak into her backyard to see her and spend time with her. I was the first boy she ever really interacted with, even though the only thing we could do was talk over the fence."
Duncan's voice cracked as he spoke, tears streaming down his face. "I can't die on her," he repeated, his voice full of anguish. "I promised I would come back and be her best friend forever. I can't break that promise, no matter what."
Noah was taken aback by Duncan's emotional outburst. He had never seen his friend this vulnerable before, and it was a stark contrast to Duncan's usual cocky attitude.
He placed a comforting hand on Duncan's shoulder, trying to soothe him.
"Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "You're not going to die. You'll make it back to her, I know it. You're stronger than this."
Duncan looked up at Noah, tears still streaming down his face. "It's just so hard," he whispered. "I'm so scared. I don't want to let her down."
Noah squeezed his shoulder firmly.
"You won't let her down," he said firmly. "You're a fighter, Duncan. You can get through this."
Noah valued that moment with Duncan most of all as it felt most human ever seen Duncan ever be in a long while months ago.
Noah woke up to the harsh terrain of the outskirts of the Netherlands. He groggily sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He looked around and saw that the few men left in their air force unit, including Duncan, were on watch, making sure they weren't caught by the enemy.
Noah shivered as he took in their surroundings. They were in a dangerous situation, and they needed to be careful if they hoped to get to Luxembourg without being discovered.
He stood up, rubbing his arms to try and warm himself up. The air was crisp and cold, and the landscape was desolate and bleak. He looked over at Duncan, who was on watch, and felt a pang of gratitude for his friend's presence. He knew that he could rely on Duncan, no matter what challenges they faced.
Duncan was polishing his weapon, his eyes fixed on the task as he muttered furiously under his breath.
"Maudits nazis, Les sont ces nazis" he muttered in French, his voice full of anger. "I'll make them pay for everything they've done. I'll make them pay with their lives."
Noah watched him from a distance, listening to his muttered threats. He could see the anger and determination in Duncan's eyes, and he knew that his friend was itching for a fight. Despite the danger they were in, part of Noah was glad to see Duncan so focused and ready to take on the enemy.
Noah yawned quietly as he thought back to the other day, when they had come across resistance fighters from Belgium and France.
"I can't believe our luck," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "We've been dodging the enemy so far, and then suddenly we keep running into resistance fighters."
He looked over at Duncan, who was still polishing his weapon with single minded focus. He knew that Duncan was itching to get into a fight, but Noah also knew that they couldn't afford to draw attention to themselves. They had to be stealthy and clever if they wanted to make it to Luxembourg in one piece.
Noah did a head count of their newly enlarged unit, which now included 12 resistance fighters from Belgium and France.
He heard Duncan mumbling in French under his breath, his tone full of anger and contempt.
"Tous des imbéciles faibles," he muttered. "Chacun d'entre eux, jusqu'au dernier."
Noah chuckled under his breath at Duncan's scathing assessment of their new companions. He knew that Duncan wasn't exactly known for his tact or diplomacy, and it was no surprise that he would have some harsh words for their new allies.
But in spite of Duncan's reservations, Noah couldn't help but feel relieved that they had more numbers on their side. It would be a long and dangerous journey to Luxembourg, and they would need all the help they could get if they hoped to make it there alive and intact.
Duncan was lovingly polishing his prized weapon, the one he had named after Courtney. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he tended to it, even in the midst of their present situation.
He watched as Noah quietly did a head count on their unit, which had grown to 45 men now that they had been joined by the Belgian and French resistance fighters. He chuckled to himself as he watched Noah, thinking that he was probably counting every man twice to make sure he wasn't missing anyone.
Duncan's attention returned to his weapon, and he continued to polish it with practiced hands. It was a beautiful weapon, he thought, one of the best he had ever laid eyes on. He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction every time he looked at it, knowing that it was his and that it was made extra special because he had named it after Courtney.
He ran a cloth over the sleek black barrel, taking in the feel of the cool metal against his skin. He had spent countless hours tending to this weapon, making it as flawless and deadly as possible. He knew that it would serve him well in the days to come.
Duncan ran a hand along the grip, marveling at the smoothness of the wood. It was a perfect fit for his hand, as if it had been made just for him. And in a way, he supposed it had. He had chosen every aspect of this weapon, from the design to the materials, to make it the perfect representation of his devotion to Courtney.
Duncan chuckled softly as he thought about Courtney cuddling up to him in the bar where they had lived together. He missed her warm body and her soft touch. However, he knew that he couldn't let himself dwell on his memories for too long. They were too painful and distracting.
He returned his focus to his weapon, running a hand along the barrel.
"Not you," he muttered. "But you'll have to do for now."
He smiled wistfully, remembering how comfortable and safe he had felt with Courtney in his arms. But then he shook his head, trying to pull himself back to the present. He couldn't afford to get lost in thought. He needed to stay focused and alert, especially since they were in such a dangerous situation.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to think about their situation. They needed to continue on their journey to Luxembourg, and they would need all of their strength and wits to get there safely. He couldn't afford to get distracted by memories of Courtney and her soft skin and sweet scent.
The weapon that Duncan was tending to was a sleek and powerful MP-40 submachine gun, commonly used by the Nazi military during the war. It was a beautiful and deadly piece of machinery, and Duncan had come to rely on it as a trusted companion.
As he continued to polish and inspect it, he whispered softly to the gun.
"You're no Courtney," he murmured. "But you bring me comfort in her absence. You were taken from a Nazi unit that we overpowered a couple of months ago."
He ran a hand gently over the cool metal, feeling the weight and solidity of it. It was a tool of war, yes, but it was also a symbol of his strength and prowess as a fighter. He had taken this gun from a Nazi officer, and now it was his to use as he pleased.
"You and I have been through a lot together," he murmured, his lips curling into a wry smile. "You've never let me down, and I'll make damn sure I never let you down either."
Duncan couldn't help but chuckle to himself at Noah's concern. He knew that Noah was worried about him, thinking that he was losing touch with reality. But what Noah didn't understand was that he wasn't losing touch with reality, he was simply coping with it in his own way.
He continued to polish his weapon, his thoughts drifting to his home, Canada. He missed it dearly, he missed the food, the familiar sights, and he missed Courtney dearly as well. He missed her warm smile and her comforting presence.
He knew that his attachment to his weapon was strange to the others. They thought he was crazy, that he actually believed that his weapon was Courtney. He could see the looks of concern on their faces, especially Noah's.
"They think I'm losing my mind," he thought with a wry smile. "Little do they know that I'm just trying to cope in my own, eccentric way."
He took a moment to glance at Noah, seeing the worry etched on his friend's face. He knew that Noah was probably thinking the worst, that he was losing his grip on reality and needed help. But Duncan felt calm and clear-headed, and deep down he knew that his attachment to his weapon was a way of holding onto his last piece of home, his last link to Courtney.
Noah watched Duncan with a mixture of worry and affection. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of Duncan holding his weapon, talking to it like it was his own personal confidant.
But there was something else there too, a sense of amusement. He knew that the other men thought Duncan was losing it, that he actually believed his weapon was Courtney. It was a funny thought, but Noah knew that deep down the true reason for Duncan's attachment to the weapon was much more complex.
He watched Duncan polish and inspect his weapon, his hands moving over the metal with a familiarity and tenderness that spoke of years of handling it. He could see the affection in every touch, in the way he held it, talked to it, and cared for it. He knew that Duncan loved that weapon with all his heart, but it wasn't because he thought it was Courtney.
It was because, in a way, it reminded him of her. In its sleek, deadly perfection, he found a reflection of the woman he missed so dearly.
Noah sighed heavily as he looked over the sleeping men in the unit. They were all exhausted after the previous day's struggles, and he knew that they would need all their strength if they were going to continue their journey to Luxembourg.
"Dammit," he muttered to himself. "I have to wake 'em up and get breakfast going, but I know they're gonna need more rest before we head out."
He glanced at Duncan, seeing that he was still absorbed in tending to his weapon. He rolled his eyes slightly.
"He's still fussing over that damned weapon," thought Noah. "I swear, he loves that thing more than he loves his own men."
He got up and made his way over to Duncan, preparing himself to rouse him from his reverie.
"Oi, Duncan. Time to get up and get moving. The men need some food and a bit more rest before we hit the road again."
Duncan handed over his beloved weapon to Noah, his voice full of mock seriousness.
"Watch over her for me, will ya? I gotta wake up the boys."
Noah rolled his eyes, amused by Duncan's playfulness.
"You and that weapon, I swear," he muttered, taking the weapon carefully. He ran a hand over the cool metal, feeling the familiarity and strength it represented.
"I'll take good care of her," he said, playing along. "You focus on waking up the men and getting breakfast going."
Duncan chuckled softly, patting the weapon one last time before heading off to wake up the men and start breakfast.
The men stirred slowly as Duncan approached, grumbling and groaning as they were roused from their slumber. Some of them mumbled to themselves about the early wake-up call, but they knew that Duncan wouldn't tolerate any laziness or complaining.
"Rise and shine, lads," Duncan called out in his usual brusque manner. "Time to get breakfast cooking and our asses moving."
The men slowly got up, rubbing their eyes and stretching to work out the stiffness in their limbs. A few of them shot Duncan dirty looks, clearly not happy about being woken up so early and so brusquely.
"Bloody hell, Duncan," one of them grumbled. "Can't we have just a bit more rest, just a bit longer? We're knackered from yesterday."
The soldier who had complained about getting up let out a loud moan of despair at being assigned clean-up duty for his complaint.
"Bloody hell, Duncan, you're a cruel bastard," he muttered. "Punishing me for wanting a bit more rest. Not fair, man."
Duncan just laughed, enjoying the soldier's reaction.
"Oh, quit your whining. You know the rules. Anyone who complains gets put on clean-up duty. Better get used to the idea, mate."
One of the other men spoke up, a wry smile on his face. "You're just taking out your frustrations on our friend here because of your own lack of sleep, aren't you, Duncan?"
Duncan shot the man a mock glare, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me? Lack of sleep? How dare you. I was up bright and early, tending to my dear friend 'Courtney' here." He patted his weapon for emphasis.
The men groaned and teased Duncan for his decision to have a Canadian breakfast, as they were all well aware of Duncan's love for his homeland.
"Oh, great," one man muttered. "Canadian breakfast, is it? What are you gonna serve us, maple syrup and bacon?"
Noah chuckled, watching their playful banter with amusement. He had become used to this kind of ribbing in the unit, and he found it amusing.
"Come on now, boys," he interjected. "Give Duncan a break. A Canadian breakfast ain't that bad."
Duncan let out a hearty laugh at the men's complaints, clearly enjoying their banter. "That's right," he said, grinning. "We're having Canadian breakfast, whether you like it or not. And just for that smart-ass remark, we're having extra maple syrup, too."
The men continued to grumble and tease Duncan, but there was a hint of affection in their voices. They knew that Duncan's love of Canada was sincere, and they couldn't help but find his enthusiasm endearing.
Duncan, along with Noah, was from Saskatchewan in Canada. Duncan had a strong, rugged persona, embodying the stereotype of the tough, no-nonsense Canadian. He took pride in his strength and resilience, and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty when necessary. He valued hard work and physical labor, and had a deep love for the outdoors, particularly snow and cold weather. Although he could come across as gruff and blunt, deep down he had a big heart and cared deeply for his fellow soldiers.
Noah, on the other hand, was from Quebec.
Noah was a bit more reserved and thoughtful than Duncan, but he had a quiet confidence and a subtle sense of humor. He was a gifted linguist and could speak fluent French and English, making him a valuable asset in communicating with the other soldiers from different nations. He was also very observant and perceptive, often able to read the mood and emotions of his peers. Despite his calm demeanor, he had a strong sense of determination and bravery, and was a loyal member of the unit.
The other soldiers in the unit were a motley crew from various other nations. There were British soldiers, French soldiers, and many others.
Each of them brought their own unique personalities and backgrounds to the table, creating a diverse and vibrant unit. Some were brash and cocky, like Duncan, while others were more reserved and studious, like Noah. But they all shared a common goal - to fight against the Nazis and protect their countries from the threat of invasion.
The different nationalities and personalities sometimes led to clashes and disagreements within the unit, but they all respected each other's skills and expertise, and knew that they were fighting side by side for the greater good.
As they went about their daily routine - cooking breakfast, packing up their supplies, and preparing for the journey ahead - the soldiers engaged in light-hearted banter, teasing each other about their home countries and cultural differences.
"Bloody hell, mate," one British soldier said to a French soldier, "your baguettes ain't got nothing on my mum's scones."
The French soldier huffed in mock offense, a sly smile on his face. "Your scones? Don't make me laugh. We've got croissants, mon ami."
The Belgian soldier joined in on the playful banter, his accent thick and his smile wide.
"Ah, you both shut your traps!" he said, pretending to be annoyed. "My grand-mère's waffles blow your scones and croissants out of the water!"
The soldiers around him laughed at his declaration, all getting into the spirit of the fun.
"Waffles, is it?" the British soldier countered, grinning. "You call those pancake wannabes breakfast? We've got fry-ups and full English breakfasts. Now that's real food!"
The French soldier piped up, joining the fray. "Ha! Your fry-ups and breakfasts are nothing compared to our croissants and baguettes. And don't even get me started on our wine, you uncouth barbarians."
The men's banter was getting louder and more passionate, with each soldier defending the culinary pride of their home country.
"Enough, enough!" Duncan finally interjected, his voice booming over the noise. "You lot are going to wake the dead with all this squabblin'!"
He shot the soldiers all a mock glare, pretending to be annoyed. "Settle down, you lot. We've got more important matters to discuss, like the plan for today. Noah, do us a favor and put an end to this food debate so we can get to business."
Noah rolled his eyes in exaggerated annoyance at the men's antics, though he couldn't help but smile a little. He understood their pride in their countries, but it was starting to get a little ridiculous how passionate they were getting about their food.
"Alright, enough of the arguing," he said, his voice authoritative but still playful. "We've got more pressing things to talk about, and we can't do that if you lot are going to fight like children over food."
He shot a sidelong glance at Duncan, amused by his fellow Canadian's interjection.
The soldiers grumbled good-naturedly in response, reluctantly agreeing to put their food debate on hold for now. They all knew that Noah was right; there were more important things to consider, like the mission at hand. But the playful banter continued, with the men jabbing at each other with good-natured insults and jokes.
"Oh, very well," the British soldier said, feigning annoyance. "We'll put our culinary superiority on hold for now. But this isn't over, you lot. We all know we've got the best grub around."
"Ha!" the French soldier retorted. "You and your 'grub.' You call that breakfast? We French know how to start the day properly with our croissants, pastries, and a cup of hot coffee."
"Oh, shut it, frog-eater," the British soldier taunted. "You French may have your fancy pastries and coffee, but nothing beats a greasy fry-up!"
"Greasy fry-up, my arse," the Belgian soldier chimed in, his accent strong and his tone playful. "You Brits wouldn't know good food if it smacked you in the face. What you need is a hearty waffle with some local Belgian chocolate and a cup of our finest beer!"
"Chocolate and beer for breakfast?" the British soldier exclaimed, mock-horrified. "Are you Belgians completely mad? No wonder you lot love your beer so much, if that's what you consider a proper meal!"
The French soldier chimed in, his voice sly. "Oh, come now, mon ami. Just because you English have no taste doesn't mean you have to insult our Belgian friends for enjoying the finer things in life."
Noah rolled his eyes at Duncan's playful threat, amused by his fellow Canadian's theatrics.
"Relax, Duncan," he said, a small smile on his face. "No need to start firing off shots into the air. These men are just having a bit of fun. Besides, we Canadians have a reputation for being peaceful and nice, remember?"
Inside, Noah couldn't help but find the whole argument and Duncan's antics quite amusing. He enjoyed seeing his fellow soldiers let loose and act like rowdy boys at times.
"And besides," Noah added, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, "I don't think the enemy soldiers will wait patiently for us to finish our food debate before attacking us. So, let's save our arguments for later, eh?"
The Belgian soldier, caught up in the friendly banter, couldn't help but chime in with a laugh. "I agree with the Canadian," he said, a grin on his face. "Let's focus on fighting the Nazis before we squabble over breakfast foods."
The French soldier nodded in agreement, conceding that there were more important matters at hand.
"Oui, oui, the Belgian is right," he said, his accent still thick and his tone still friendly. "We can argue about our food after we've won this war, oui?"
The British soldier joined in, his previous stubbornness and passion for his own country's food forgotten in the face of the group's playful camaraderie.
"Alright, alright," he said, a smile on his face. "Let's put aside our culinary disputes for now. Duty calls."
The soldiers all got into formation, grabbing their supplies and preparing for the day ahead. Noah and Duncan, as the unofficial leaders of the unit, took charge, giving instructions and guiding the men as they gathered their gear.
"Alright, everyone," Noah said, his voice firm and commanding. "You know the drill. Gather your gear, grab your weapons, and stay vigilant. We've got a mission to complete today, and I don't want any of you getting sloppy."
Duncan stood next to Noah, his expression serious and focused.
"Listen up, lads," Duncan added, addressing the men with a strong, confident tone. "We're counting on each and every one of you today. We've got a job to do, and it ain't gonna be easy. So stick together, watch each other's backs, and don't do anything stupid. Understood?"
The soldiers nodded in acknowledgement, a mix of determination and a hint of nervousness on their faces. Despite their banter and their lightheartedness earlier, they knew the gravity of the situation and the dangerous mission ahead.
"Good," Noah said, satisfied with the response. "Now let's get moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover today, and daylight's burning. Form up and follow me. Keep your eyes peeled and be ready for anything."
With that, Noah signaled for the men to start moving, the sound of their boots hitting the ground and the jangling of their gear filling the air. Duncan followed closely behind him, his gaze scanning the surrounding area, looking for any signs of danger as they began their trek forward.
Brick sat by himself in the secluded outskirts of Luxembourg, surrounded by the peaceful beauty of nature. He was trying to enjoy a few moments of quiet solitude, but his thoughts were troubled. The recent news about his cousin Brian's deployment had him feeling uneasy and conflicted.
The animals of the wilderness nearby seemed to sense his troubled mood, watching him curiously from a safe distance. The birds in the trees chirped softly, and a small group of rabbits hopped nearby, their ears twitching as they observed him.
The outskirts of Luxembourg stretched out before him as far as the eye could see. The pristine landscape was dotted with rolling hills, fields of wildflowers, and stands of lush trees. The air was crisp and clean, filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. The wildlife in the area was abundant and thriving - rabbits bounded across the grass, squirrels darted through the trees, and birds perched on branches overhead, singing bright, cheerful tunes.
Brick chuckled softly at the absurdity of talking to the animals as if they could understand him.
"Guess you guys want to hear my troubles, huh?" he mused aloud, addressing the animals around him. "Might as well lay it out to you. Not like you're going to judge me, right?"
The animals seemed to perk up, listening intently to his words. A curious squirrel hopped closer, its tiny head tilted to the side, as if trying to make sense of the human's one-sided conversation.
"It's just..." Brick continued, his voice a mixture of frustration and resignation. "I've got a cousin, Brian, getting deployed over here. And don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but..."
He paused, sighing deeply, as he tried to find the right words. The animals remained motionless, hanging on to his every word.
"But he's a real hotheaded, impulsive sort of fella. And I can't help but worry about what trouble he might get himself into out here..."
"He's always been stubborn and headstrong, never really thinking things through before jumping into anything. And with this war going on..." Brick trailed off, his voice cracking with emotion.
The animals around him seemed to sense his distress, sensing the weight of his worries. The squirrel, which had hopped closer, tilted its tiny head in what almost seemed like a sympathetic gesture.