This is a story in progress. It's based upon the experiences of Adolf Dieter, a sniper of the 352nd Infantry division.]
A light rain fell on the sands of what was to become one of the bloodiest battlegrounds in history. Adolf Dieter of the 352nd Infantry Division lifts his head out of his foxhole and above the sandbags. The foxhole was freshly dug. Adolf had only hours before emerged from the bunker to his right after the aerial bombardment by the allies. Now he lay prone, looking through his scope and waiting, waiting for the Americans. Suddenly through his scope he spots a small ship, it was a landing craft. Upon looking left and right he sees scores more of them. He turns to the soldier beside him. < The Americans are here. > He says calmly nodding towards the water. The man takes off in a crouching run towards the bunker.
Minutes later the artillery opens fire. Adolf watches as fountains of water go up around the craft; several of the craft themselves were hit. They sink and he watches as Americans struggle to stay afloat. Slowly but surely the landing craft get closer, some unloading their loads yards away from shore. The Americans drop all their gear and swim ashore. Adolf raised his rifle and inserts it into a small hole in the sand bags. Lowering his head he looks through the scope at a American struggling onto the shore. Remembering his training he aims slightly above the man’s head. Emptying his lungs he softly squeezes the trigger.
The man’s head jerked back, reddish spray exploding from the back of it, the man's body stumbles spastically for four more steps before falling. Adolf coldly extracts the old round and chambers a new one before looking through the scope again. He sights another American, this one crawling. The bullet goes right down the man’s spine. Adolf works like a machine, he extracts the old round and chambers a new one before firing again. He has no compassion, shows no emotion at what he’s doing. Off to his right he hears the heavy chattering of an MG42, he sees a whole unit of soldiers get wiped out as the landing craft put down it’s ramp. One American crawls over his comrades; Adolf ends his misery with a shot that shatters the man’s skull. The man's appendages twitch for several second before he lies still.
There are more landing craft now. More than the artillery can keep up with. The chatter from the MG42’s is continuous now. Adolf kills an American firing a submachine gun at his sandbags, with a bullet through his throat. He sits back against the sandbags and pulls out a small notebook from his pocket and a pencil. There are two pages filled of tally marks, Adolf adds five more tallies. He then goes about reloading his rifle. He’s not concerned about the Americans and takes his time…
[The chapter isn't finished yet, I'm just posting what I have thus far. I'm not even sure how long this is going to end up being. This was a spur of the moment thing, inspiration just hit. If anyone can find slang terms that the Germans had for the Americans, it would be much appreciated. Also, feel free to give constructive criticism.]
"Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen as he watched the hobbits."