"Ich werde nie sagen, wo sie sind. (I'll never tell you where they are.)" A German soldier stated while grinning, as he spat at Colonel John. It had been three years since John had trained under General Oxis. He had moved up the ranks due to his strategic skills and bravery. A British soldier punched the German's face, which caused the German to breathe heavily as well as making his nose bleed.

John knelt real close to the German's ear, "Sagen Sie uns , oder Ihre Kameraden sterben. (Tell us, or your comrades die.)" he calmly whispered as the German's eyes suddenly widened. The German unexpectedly scoffed, indicating that he thought John didn't have the guts to do it.

*BANG*

A German soldier held captive fell to the ground as a huge red spot was seen on his chest. The German tied to the chair suddenly let out a cry and nodded his head rapidly.

"Okay, Okay! I vill tell ju where zey are! Just pleaze do not kill my men!" exclaimed the now sweating German.

"Good. Now, I ask you again. Where is my father and his platoon?" John asked.

"Zey-Zey are in Belgium! The Führer will finish zem off soon, if you do nut leave at a rapid pace!" The German admitted. John, was not grinning. A sudden creepy smile came across his face.

"Eh, Zank you, for ze information, Captain."

"Jor velcome! Now pleaze, may ju let uz g-" the German Captain was suddenly silenced as John shot him in the head with his revolver.
"Hahaha, stupid Jerrys.", John stated as he walked away from the building he was in. Yes. It had been three years. And in those three years, John had learned his dad was alive, and in an American platoon stationed in North Eastern Europe. He and his men had spotted German patrols scouting on Northern France. They ambushed the inexperienced Germans and held them captive as they interrogated them for information on the Americans.

~Two months later~

-Somewhere in Eastern France-

"They're falling back! Finish them off with tank fire! Call in our boys from the sky to drop some lead on those bloody gits!" A British officer ordered as British troops chased after the retreating German army. The winter snow was unable to cover the soldiers footsteps as each breathe they took were seen in the chilly fog.

They had found the location of the American platoon they were searching for, but on the way, they ran into a battalion of American troops commanded by General Dwight. It seems no Italian enemies, were seen. This was because, when John had became Colonel, he had ordered 3,665 troops and 5,000 American troops, to fight in the front lines in Italy; where weary French and Polish forces were waiting for their assistance.

"Dammit! GSF (German Special Forces) 12 o' clock!" The officer yelled as delta squads were trying to flank them. They were basically juggernauts. Slowly, they walked towards John's main tent as they bashed their rifles on the poor British men who tried to stop them. They stopped.

They were here.