Bullets swarm across the rocky terrain of the battlefield as the bellies of fat bombers drop below the smoke and cloud cover to deliver thunderous death. All the while you crouch in your fox-hole trembling. It’s your time to go, to lead the charge against the villains who dare stand against you, yet you are afraid.

After months on a starvation diet, your appetite has been curbed. Your rigorous training was designed to turn you into a sword against evil and a shield for good. This is the moment where you need to decide whether to die a coward, or become a man, or better yet- a hero.

Wind knifes its way through the trench turning the sweat that dots your forehead and hands into stinging ice. You clutch your Gewehr 41 to your chest with numb fingers. It is the only thing that stands between you and your enemies; it is the only thing that can save you from death.

You bring the soldiers, little more than boys really, to their feet with a wave of your hand and begin to run. The Allies are out there. Waiting.