The truck engine growled a steady, even sound as it rumbled over the uneven ground towards the cliffs. It was over. The Germans had been defeated. It hadn't lasted long, but it lasted longer than anyone thought it would. Longer than anyone would have liked. And now, back in England, it was time to enjoy our victory, and the return to our former lives. But first, a gaze across the channel, one last time.

The truck stopped before we made it to the highest point of the cliffs, the ground too rough and steep for it to climb any further. We heard other trucks coming behind us as we piled out, and began climbing up the path towards the summit. When we reached it, we all gazed silently out over the sea, taking in the French coastline on the opposite side of the channel.

My thoughts took a turn, then, away from the peace and serenity I knew at this moment, to the chaos and the fear and the pure noise of battle. I knew it well. I had seen more towns than I could remember the names off. I had killed more German troops than I cared to remember. And I did. Their faces, each and every one of them. I remembered. And those I had killed from too far away to see clearly...well, they had faces too, faces cobbled together in my mind.

So much blood, so much agony, so much death. I looked at the men around me and could see in their eyes that their thoughts followed mine. There were soldiers of all ranks and roles around us now, from the lowest recruit to a decorated member of command. From sappers to mere riflemen to machine gunners.

I knew then what I had to do. I couldn't go back home. What I had become had no business being there. I took a step towards the cliff edge, and then another, and out of the corner of my eye I saw others doing the same. We stood like that a long time, waiting for those of us who had arrived late to the scene a chance to find their thoughts...to come to the same conclusion. It didn't take long, and soon every man who had taken the drive up to the cliffs was standing upon the threshold.

The moment stretched out as all said our prayers, shook the hands of the men beside us, and waited for the moment to end, and the next to begin. Silence, but for the wind. And then...a man I recognized as a veteran paratrooper, raised a hand over his head, hesitated a moment, and cried out.

"JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!"

And we did.

As we plunged over the edge, I immediately regretted taking that step. I could feel my stomach in my throat and the wind stinging my eyes, and I thought, "What the HELL did I just do?" I don't remember hitting, and I didn't feel any pain, but as I lay upon the ground, fighting the darkness closing in as I tried to look at my comrades, I had one last thought.

"At least campaign 50 starts Friday."

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Submitted by ''Flaxon"

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