The bullets and mortar rounds rained down like hail. Blood covered his face like some hideous poorly conceived red mask. It was not his blood, but he wished it was. His first emotion was fear. He was terrified by all he saw. Were it not for the smell of gunpowder and carnage, it could have been any sleepy June morning on the beaches of Normandy. He was nineteen, and somewhere, there was a girl waiting for him. But there would be no sweet going home today. This was a day of death and dying. This was a day for killing and the making of war.
Newspaper accounts would later say he and thousands of other young American men far from home were fighting and dying for God, country and all that is good about our nation; Fighting the tyranny that comes with fascism.
His fear soon gave way to rage. And in the wake of his rage he waded into the Nazis to murder and take revenge for the dead. I know this to be true, because he was my old man. He was part of what Tom Brokaw called our countrys greatest generation. Brokaw was right. But most people today rarely give thought about such men. And Ill admit it, Im no saint, I never gave them much thought either.
Then I met Fallon Chandler. I saw her for the first time a year ago, and my life hasnt been the same since. Some say she helped change me for the better; others say the jury is still out. To be completely honest, I dont know which side of that argument I agree with; I only know that I am not who I used to be.
My name is Storm, Victor Storm.
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