Brothers In Arms- Hell-s Highway File

“They’re coming,” Billy said, his throat dry.

“Eddie!” Billy screamed.

When it was over, the field was quiet except for the rain and the moans of the dying. Billy leaned against the smoldering tank, hands shaking. Jake walked over, a fresh gash on his cheek, his uniform torn. Brothers In Arms- Hell-s Highway

“No, no, no—” Billy tried to scramble out of the ditch, but Jake grabbed his harness and yanked him back.

Billy listened. Above the drumming rain, there was a low, mechanical growl. Tanks. German tanks. The rumble grew until the ground trembled. “They’re coming,” Billy said, his throat dry

The rain had not stopped for eleven days. It fell in a gray, weeping sheet over the Dutch countryside, turning the shattered roads into canals of mud and muck. For Private First Class William "Billy" Rourke of the 101st Airborne, the rain was just another enemy—one without a face, one that rotted your boots, your rations, and your hope.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

Eddie turned, eyes wide as dinner plates. A burst of German fire caught him in the chest. He crumpled like a discarded puppet. The rain washed his blood into the mud before Billy could even close his mouth.