A cold wind cut through the bunker. Commander Joseph Herzberg surveyed the beach through his binoculars. The beach grass bent from the relentless push of the ocean breeze, the sand gushing over the beach covered everything in hazy white gauze. The sea beat endlessly on the shore. And all was calm on this winter day in Normandy.
Satisfied with his observation Joseph returned to his desk. He turned his attention to a report about the defeat in the Alps; the Alliance was losing ground in Europe. Fearsome war elephants were thundering down the mountains and scrap-metal zeppelins were seen crashing into European troops. The Warlords they called themselves, or so the report said. A bunch of savages more like it. Wild, dark and utterly insane.
His grandfather had told him about the colonies in Africa. About the gold and the diamonds mine he had owned and how that had made the family rich. About how his grandmother tried to educate the savages in the ways of the Lord. But their dark eyes had rejected them fiercely, the white in stark contrast with the ebony skin.
A siren rudely disturbed his reminiscence. Perturbed he peeked out of the slit in the bunker. His eyes widened as a saw a shabby looking truck rush towards him, bits and pieces of metal falling of it in the sand. The truck gathered speed as it approached the bunker. What are they trying to do, Joseph thought. Before he could blink the truck rammed the bunker.
The walls shook, but the bunker was still standing. The moment before an explosion the world is completely quiet. For a split second he stared into those wild, dark and utterly insane eyes. Then thunder filled the world and darkness rolled over the dunes of Normandy.
