The operation has begun and mission

Lorenzo left the mess hall of the British Army, a wry grin tugged at his lips as he thought about the Shelby brothers. He never expected to find such suspicious minds even in the middle of a war, let alone among his own allies. The Shelby brothers' paranoia about his exceptional physique and performance during training drills had been amusing. Thankfully, they hadn't bothered him again after that day.

As the days passed, the incident with the Shelby brothers faded into the back of his mind. A few more days went by, and Lorenzo and his platoon found themselves in the barren landscape of Malta, a rocky outpost in the Mediterranean Sea. They were there to undergo rigorous training in preparation for the upcoming "Operation Husky," a pivotal mission that could turn the tide of the war in their favor. Alongside them, other platoons from the Seventh U.S. Army, led by the formidable Lieutenant General George S. Patton, were also honing their skills.

Their days began before dawn, with reveille blaring through the camp, jolting the men from their slumber. They quickly fell into formation, still half-asleep but determined. Their company commander, a seasoned captain, barked orders, pushing them through a punishing physical regimen. Push-ups, sit-ups, and endless laps around the parade ground were just the warm-up. The real training began once the sun had fully risen.

Lorenzo's platoon, like the others, was drilled relentlessly on marksmanship, practicing with their M1 Garand rifles and M1911 pistols until they could disassemble and reassemble them blindfolded. They spent hours in the makeshift shooting range, honing their aim at targets that popped up erratically, simulating enemy soldiers. The sound of gunfire echoed across the barren landscape, punctuated by the captain's commands to do better, faster, more accurately.

As the days of grueling training passed, Lorenzo couldn't help but wonder about the success of "Operation Mincemeat." The operation, masterminded by the British, aimed to deceive the Axis powers into believing that the Allied forces would focus their main attack on Greece and Sardinia, while Sicily was to be targeted as a feint only. He knew from his previous life that this ruse had been crucial in diverting the enemy's attention, paving the way for the Allies' success in the region. He hoped it would play out the same way in this timeline.

Meanwhile, the Allied forces began their assault on the Axis-held Mediterranean islands, starting with Pantelleria. Aerial attacks commenced, relentless bombardments pummeling the Italian garrison into submission. With no other choice, the Italians raised the white flag, signaling their surrender.

The fall of Pantelleria was a morale booster for the Allied troops, especially for those like Lorenzo and his platoon who were gearing up for the much larger Operation Husky. They doubled down on their training, knowing that the stakes were higher than ever.

As the date of the invasion of Sicily drew closer, the tension in the air thickened. The men around him, while outwardly jovial and boisterous, carried an undercurrent of anxiety. They all knew what was at stake. This operation could either turn the tide of the war in their favor or deal them a crushing blow.

On the eve of July 9, 1943, the Allied forces began their long-awaited invasion of Sicily. The air was thick with tension and anticipation as the men of the Seventh U.S. Army, including First Lieutenant Lorenzo's platoon, boarded their landing crafts in the dead of night.

The sound of waves crashing against the hull of the boats was the only noise that broke the silence, save for the occasional cough or whispered prayer.

Lorenzo stood tall, his M1 Garand rifle slung over his shoulder, as he scanned his platoon. He could see the unease etched on the faces of his men, especially Max and Patrick. These two had become more like soldiers since the beginning of their training, and now, on the eve of their first major engagement, their fears were showing.

"Max, Patsy," he said, his voice firm but reassuring, "don't look defeated even before the fight. You need to believe in yourself."

The two young soldiers exchanged glances before nodding at their leader. They knew he was right; they had come too far to give up now.

Lorenzo then turned to his platoon sergeant, Lawrence, "Lawrence, make sure the men know their objectives. We're counting on them to hold the line. I want no slip-ups later."

"Yes, sir!" Lawrence barked, saluting sharply before moving down the line, checking equipment and whispering words of encouragement into each soldier's ear.

The moonless sky provided a veil of darkness, but the roar of the engines and the crashing waves against the hulls of the boats were enough to give them away. They could only hope that the element of surprise would still be on their side.

Their target was the Gulf of Gela, a stretch of coastline along the southwestern coast of Sicily. The Seventh U.S. Army, under the command of General Patton, had been tasked with securing the beaches and establishing a beachhead for the rest of the Allied forces to land. It was a daunting task, but one they had trained relentlessly for.

Lorenzo's platoon, specifically, had been given the mission to neutralize a strategic German artillery battery perched atop a nearby cliff. The guns there had been wreaking havoc on Allied ships and posed a significant threat to their landing operations.

As they approached the shores of Gela, it seemed the Italian and Axis forces were caught off-guard. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, Lorenzo adjusted his helmet and turned to his men.

"Men," he bellowed over the din of the engines, "this is it! This is what we've been training for! We've got this! Remember your training, trust in yourselves, and most importantly, trust in the man next to you!"

His words were met with a chorus of determined grunts and nods. They knew what was at stake.

Neutralizing those guns would pave the way for the success of the entire operation.

As the landing crafts approached the shores of Sicily, the silence was shattered by the ear-piercing screech of whistles and the deafening roar of artillery fire. The invasion had begun. The ramp of their Higgins boat lowered with a metallic groan, and the men of Lorenzo's platoon, along with other platoons from Higgin boats, stormed the blood-soaked sands of Gela Beach.

Lorenzo and his men raced through the hail of bullets, using the cover of the landing crafts' smoke screens to advance towards the cliffs. The German and Italian defenses were caught off-guard, but they quickly recovered, and the real fight began.

Wirrrrrrrrrrr Clink clink

The sound of bullets whizzing past them was deafening, and Lorenzo could see men from other platoons fall, even his own men have suffered, some hit in the legs or other non-fatal areas. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he crouched low, scanning the area for any signs of the enemy.

Lorenzo quickly assessed the situation and barked out orders. "Richard, take half of the platoon and flank them from the left! Jones, you and your medical squad tend to the injured!"

"Yes, sir!" Richard and Jones responded in unison before leading their respective groups.

Richard's team carefully made their way to the left flank, staying low and using whatever cover they could find. Meanwhile, Jones and his medical squad tended to the injured, dragging them to safety and administering first aid.

Lorenzo turned to the remaining men with him, including Max, Patsy, and Julius. "Don't peek your heads out, boys! Wait for my signal!"

The sound of gunfire was relentless, and then suddenly, a deafening "Boom!" rent the air as an explosion rocked near their position. Blood and debris flew everywhere, and the sight of decapitated bodies sent a chill down their spines. Even the most hardened soldiers flinched, but there was no time for fear.

"What do we do? Can we even get out of here?" Patrick, asked, his voice shaking with terror.

"There's no use in being afraid, Patsy! Save it and focus on surviving!" Lorenzo barked, his voice firm but understanding.

"Don't be distracted by your fears, boys! Stay focused on our objective!" he added, peering over the rock once more. The German machine gunners were reloading their MG42s, and this was their chance.

Clink Clonk

"Now!" he yelled, standing up and taking aim with his M1 Garand.

Wirrrrrrrrrrr

Lorenzo's well-aimed shots found their mark, one after another, as he picked off the German gunners one by one.

The Italian and Axis forces, caught off-guard by the sudden barrage, were scrambling to regroup. Sensing their disarray, some of the Allied soldiers tried to charge headfirst into the fray.

"Lie down! Don't be hit!" Lorenzo barked out, gesturing frantically. Lorenzo's men, well-trained and disciplined, immediately hit the deck as Lorenzo popped up and began picking off the remaining German gunners with deadly accuracy.

Wirrrrrrr

Heads flew and bodies crumpled, but there was no time for celebration, Lorenzo's enhanced reflexes and marksmanship were on full display as he picked off the remaining German shooters. While under ordinary circumstances, his accuracy would have been met with awe, now it was a matter of life and death.

This was a life-or-death situation, and they couldn't afford to let their guard down.

"Richard, Jones, fall back! We're moving in on the battery!" Lorenzo shouted over the din of the battle.

"Roger that, sir!" came the response from his second-in-command, Platoon Sergeant Lawrence.

The platoon, now reunited, moved as one, using the chaos they had created to their advantage. They advanced on the cliffside, where the German artillery battery was situated. The way was littered with the bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike, but they couldn't afford to dwell on it.

As they neared the artillery battery, the remaining Italian and German defenders put up a desperate fight, but the Seventh U.S. Army's training and determination prevailed. Inch by bloody inch, they advanced, taking out the enemy gunners and securing the strategic position.

Lorenzo's platoon reached the gun emplacements first, with Richard's team hot on their heels. "Sir, we've neutralized the last of the resistance! The area is secure!" Richard panted, his BAR smoking from use.

"Good work, Richard. Jones, your men did an outstanding job patching up our boys," Lorenzo said, relief evident in his voice as he surveyed the carnage around them.

Their objective complete, they quickly set about disabling the guns, placing charges on each breech and barrel. The sound of the charges being armed was drowned out by the cacophony of the ongoing battle raging around them.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Lorenzo ordered, and they retreated to their landing crafts, their mission accomplished.

As they pulled away from the blood-soaked shores of Gela, the charges detonated, sending the German artillery pieces sky-high. The Allied forces cheered, their morale buoyed by the success of Operation Husky's first wave.

The invasion of Sicily had begun, and thanks to the bravery and sacrifice of men like those in First Lieutenant Lorenzo's platoon, it had gotten off to a promising start.

The war, however, was far from over.

Despite Lorenzo and his platoon's success in destroying the German artillery, the other platoons were still entrenched in their own battles, desperately trying to complete their objectives. The difference in leadership was palpable; none of the other platoon leaders could match Lorenzo's effectiveness or strategic prowess.

Meanwhile, the Italian and Axis powers, sensing an opportunity, scrambled to retaliate. They scrambled their remaining jet fighters, launching a surprise bombing run on the Seventh US Army's ships. The stakes had never been higher.