You struggled to keep your balance as rain, falling in thick sheets, drenched the ground. Digging your heel into the ground, you cautiously got down on one knee, sinking into the soft mud.
Positioning your gun, and trying your hardest to block out the screams of battle and the fire of bullets, you focused on one British soldier. Your glove clad fingers trembling and starting to bleed from the number of times you had to do this, slowly curled around the trigger. Time seemed to slow around your as the bullet flew across the battlefield, speeding up once again when the soldier hit the ground.
Your brief victory, however, was soon ruined when your realised you couldn't fight anymore. Every bone in your body was screaming in agony and, to make matters worse, the steady fall of rain was clouding your vision; red coats and your allies alike both looked like gray shadows running around to you thanks to this God damn rain.
You took a few deep breaths, and glanced up, only to see a figure dashing towards you. Even in this rain, it was impossible to mistaken those baby blue eyes. Alfred F. Jones. As he drew closer, you realised his mouth was wide open and moving, as though he was trying to yell something at you. Before you could figure out what, however, you felt a sudden explosion of pain in your chest and fell to the ground.
Alfred, realising what happened, ran even faster and screeched to a halt in front of you, kneeling down and pulling you into his arms. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he saw a dark crimsion stain blossom around your dark blue coat. "I don't know what to do...." He whispered. "What do I do?"
You never did answer him, for the light in your eyes finally lost their light and you became limp in his arms. It took a moment for the American to realise what happened and, when it hit him, he went into hysterics. "____!" He screamed, clutching your body tightly. "____, NO! NO, YOU CAN'T DIE! ____!"
Why was there still fighting? Why were the men still running around. You were dead, nothing should be happening anymore.
Alfred awoke with a start, screaming your name as his eyes flew open. Gasping, he clutched the sheets as he soon realised where he was. He was not back during those days, not on the battlefield. Instead, he was in his nice, warm bed, his independance long since won.
He glanced over at your body, just to be sure, and sighed in relief as he watched your slow breathing. Alfred was glad that had only been a dream, and even more glad that you didn't have to go through something like that. He'd never let something like that happen to you.
Slowly settling back down, the American wrapped his arms around your body, pulling your close. "Don't worry, ____." He whispered. "I'll always protect you. That's what hero's are for, after all."