It's Quieter Here

Chapter 1

Unknown Location; June 11, 1944

The lights stung his eyes as he rose to consciousness. He squinted in an attempt to keep this intruding force out, but it helped none because he was still nauseous, dazed, and confused regardless. Klaus weakly tried to plant his feet beneath him but it was no use. Two people, two soldiers, were dragging him down a hallway roughly.

"Oh thank God he's awake." One groaned, ginger haired and fierce eyed. "Come on, get up, we're not dragging you any farther you lazy sack."

Had Klaus understood English, maybe he could've braced himself, but he didn't know what they were saying. Bits and pieces maybe, but he didn't understand he was being pulled up and plopped on his feet. As he got his footing, roughly, his knee buckled on his left side. Suddenly he was flooded with a dull stinging sensation, then a fiery sharpness in his abdomen.

"Schieße!!" Klaus exclaimed, being jolted completely awake, frustrated and in pain. Rearing back towards them, he fussed, "What is your problem you-!" His German rambling was quickly shut up with a swift knock to the back of the head.

"Quiet! We're not here to coddle you, Kraut!" The ginger spat. Klaus squirmed and tried to shove him but was only met with another BAP! As the other soldier smacked him again.

"Was ein Haufen Idioten." He muttered vindictively, a sour expression on his face as he limped the rest of the way down the hall, with help from the soldiers of course.

What was he even doing here? He thought. More importantly, where was he?

Klaus walked in silence for a bit, trying to remember the last few days, trying to trace back to his most vivid recent memory. There wasn't a lot, if he was being honest. The last four or five days had been a complete blur. He remembered being in some sort of... clinic? Hospital? It was very rocky, and he remembered being nauseous a lot.

His face lit up as he made a connection, he was on a boat. Klaus figured, considering the English, the accents, and the blatant lack of manners, that he must be somewhere in America right now. He tried tracing his memories back farther and all at once it struck him like a freight train.

Normandy; June 6, 1944

Klaus' lungs stung and he felt like collapsing, he was exhausted, but his adrenaline kept him up. He needed an out, some way to get away from here, some way to distract the opposing soldiers. As if his blessing was granted, a grenade flew just over his head and landed in front of him. The jolt of fear had him quick on his feet to grab it and throw it back, just seconds before it exploded.

He heard the screams, shouts, and jeering behind him following the explosion, and took it as his chance to get up and run. If not now then never, and he had no interest in dying at the hands of these American slobs.

Bullets whizzed past him at terrifying speeds, and he was almost surprised none had hit him, until one did. Not enough to punch a hole, it had just grazed his shoulder a bit, but the shock of it made him whip around out of habit. He regretted it immediately, losing his footing and falling down.

'Damn it Klaus you don't have time for this!!' He yelled internally, forcing himself to his feet again.

About three meters in front of him was his checkpoint. A small foxhole surrounded by sandbags right up against the sea wall. His breathing was ragged, and he felt dizzy, but he pushed onward regardless. His own will to live shocked him but he wasn't stopping it now, and as he threw himself over the wall, he almost felt triumph. They hadn't gotten him yet, he thought to himself, and they never will.