[ WP ] A team of Allied paratroopers retreat into a forest and at night , their numbers begin to mysteriously dwindle .

“ Fall back! ” 
 
 Bullets and mortar shells, throwing fissures of dirt and snow into the air, flew over the heads of the fifty odd paratroopers huddled on the far side of Bastogne. The German panzers had slowly pushed them back into the town over the past two days, reclaiming more and more land from the exhausted Americans. Lt. Westbrook popped out from behind a small shack and fired off a burst from his submachine gun, tagging a German in the shoulder. He felt the gun click empty and reached for another magazine and grimaced as his hand hit empty air. He turned from the shack, sprinted across a fallow cornfield, diving over the low rock wall that what was left of Bravo was hiding behind. 
 
 “ Anyone got a mag? ” he said, turning around to face the advancing Huns. 
 
 “ Nope Lieutenant ” 
 
 “ Sorry Lt. ” 
 
 “ Ran out five minutes ago Lieutenant ” 
 
 “ Well shit! ” Westbrook said as he slung the Tommy over his back and drew his nine millimeter. 
 
 “ Fall back! ” 
 
 Westbrook looked down the line and saw Captain Morris, the leader of Bravo, backing towards the tree line, about fifty yards away. Confused paratroopers looked as their Captain slowly abandoned the fight. 
 
 “ Stay here! ” Westbrook ordered, sprinting towards his Captain “ And keep firing! ” He reached Captain Morris and nearly tackled him to the ground, getting him out of the line of fire. 
 
 “ Captain, why are we retreating? ” Westbrook screamed, wondering what the hell was going through his head. 
 Morris looked at Westbrook, wild eyes startling the lieutenant “ We ’ re going to get overwhelmed, we ’ ve lost connection with Easy Company, we ’ re all going to die! ” 
 
 Westbrook slowly realized what had happened. Morris had been awake for the past five days, nearly 120 hours without sleep. Westbrook grabbed his crazed Captain and pulled him back towards the safety of the stone wall. Even though the Captain wasn ’ t thinking straight, running across that open ground was near suicide, he did have a point. Bravo was close to the breaking point, running low on ammunition and taking an increasing number of casualties. Westbrook scanned the firefight, looking for a way to save his men. The rock wall they were behind looped around this section of Bastogne if they could follow it and get away from these Germans, maybe they could fall back into the forest. 
 
 “ First Sergeant Martin! ” Westbrook called. Within seconds, a burly man with a tangled reddish beard dropped down next to him. “ We ’ re moving down this wall hopefully find a point close enough to the forest to make a break for it. With any luck Jerry won ’ t follow us. I want you to take what ’ s left of First Platoon with our AT rockets and stop any tanks that follow us. ” 
 
 “ What about Captain Morris? ” 
 
 “ We ’ ll deal with that can of worms later, right now, just move! ” 
 
 Bravo leapt into action, the fifteen or so men left in first platoon taking up firing positions once again, defending their retreating comrades. The Germans, seeing the retreating Americans starting edging forward, cautious, awaiting an American trap. Once they realized there were just fifteen Yanks holding the line though, the slow trickle of an advance turned into a flood. First platoon held valiantly for as long as they could, turning grim German war machines into smoking husks, living men into corpses. Eventually they followed the rest of their company back along the wall, towards the safety of the forest. 
 
 Bravo moved through the forest for most of the night, retreating for miles into the dense canopy of evergreens and barren trees. They had lost an additional ten men in their holding actions with the Germans, bringing the total number of men down to forty. Easy was hopefully still defending the town and all the wounded but there was no way to be sure. For all they knew, these forty men were the last of Bravo Company. They set up a bivouac around a small copse of trees and for the first time in five days slept. They didn ’ t even set a watch. 
 
 Westbrook woke to screaming. He immediately bolted up, completely awake, drawing his pistol. The rest of the platoon had roused themselves as well and were pointing their weapons into the dark woods. It was still night out, probably around 0100 in the morning. He looked around the group. 
 
 “ Who ’ s screaming? ” Westbrook said. No one came forward. 
 
 “ So no one here screamed? ” he asked again, looking for any response in the faces of the soldiers. 
 
 “ Well that is a load of bull ” he said “ We ’ re all awake and there ’ s no one else around ” 
 
 A rather bulky corporal by the name of Pyle stepped forward from the group of soldiers. Despite his bulk and ineffectiveness in combat he was beloved by the troops for his quirky sense of humor and demeanor. 
 
 “ Well sir, it ’ s possible that…. ” 
 Pyle never got to finish what he was going to say before a flash of bright blue light engulfed the corporal. He screamed the most bone-chilling scream that Westbrook ever could have imagined, higher than any human voice should be able to go. Everyone took an involuntary step back, eyes fixed on the smoking boots that was all that were left of Corporal Pyle. 
 
 “ What the… ” Westbrook started before another one of his soldiers burst into blue flame and then another then another. The paratroopers broke, plain and simple, they threw down their weapons and ran like rabbits from a hound. Westbrook decided to make it an order as well. 
 
 “ Run! ” he screamed at the top of his lungs, pulling up anyone that had decided to ignore the events of the night and continue sleeping. “ Just run! Get out of here! Go! ” When the man he was pulling out of a foxhole exploded he decided it was time to leave himself. 
 
 He dodged through the trees, dropping the Thompson and his rucksack, anything to get away faster. He heard those other worldly screams behind him as he sprinted through the dense wood. He risked a look back only to see a bright ball of blue flame ignite behind him. It ’ s amazing what a man under stress can do. Lieutenant Westbrook ran faster than he ever had before. Until he found a small cliff to fall off of. He took another large step only to find empty space instead of snow and rock. He tumbled over the cliff, hitting rocks and tree trunks, sliding through the snow until he reached the bottom, feeling as if he had just come out of a boxing match. He painfully lifted his head from the snow he had fallen into only to fall deep into unconsciousness. 
 
 He felt heat. Westbrook slowly opened his eyes, blinking the snow and dried blood out. He craned his head up and saw a floating ball of blue fire, just three feet in front of him. A long vine of blue flame extended from the ball, poised to strike the injured lieutenant like a viper. 
 
 “ Please ” Westbrook said, raising his arm in a gesture of mercy. 
 
 The blue flame struck. 

