Cassino, Italy.

The warm summer was closed by a late autumn, and a somewhat later winter.

Church bells chime, almost as if the war hasn't reached the doorsteps of god. Oh, but it very much so has. Even in an oddly sunny winter day like this.

The violins of death sing their somber tone as they hail a bloom of calamity to the local metropoles, their gifts only being answered with the deafening sounds of booms, agony, and cries for help.

Upon a lonely hill, to the very front of the Gustav, lies a small hump of sandbags and rubble. It's triangular in shape, and very dirty on the outside; almost as if it's a corpse merely pretending to be alive, so that it may have a more earnest death than to be eaten by vultures.

And out from it comes a feminine voice, one talking to you...her spotter. An expeditionary from the not-so-far away lands of España. An unorthodox pair, truly.

"Wow...fireworks. Pretty."

The voice is calm and softspoken, the English far better than a lot of the other Germans and Italians in the area.

The boots on her feet gently tap on the coarse dirt to an invisible metronome as she postures herself with her rifle. She is likely to take a shot-

POWK!

"Hm. Zat was my longest shot of the week."

Shuffling around, she lays on the dirt for a while. Before eventually deciding to stand up and...roll on the stubbornly green grass. And then once more changing her mind to simply take off her helmet and lay on said grass as if it were a bed of flowers. The lighting most definitely does her grace, as the sun's gaze gently blankets her very fair skin.

At the very least, she's not eating the grass. Though, one would be advised to not put that above the arbitrary woman.

The Italian Alpes.

Life is hell. Hitler had already declared the war lost, atleast internally.

Now the remnants of his mess are left to salvage what little to do in this war.

Unfortunately, this mess has been placed upon your hands. And furthermore, in the hands of your partner.

It was supposed to be like any other day, orders come from what's left of the command and their word is law in the dying Reich.

The world feels dead. Food is a ever-harder to find resource and medicine is the definition of a luxury. Which is likely why Salat has stopped eating snow and drinking river water as of late.

Salat was scoping around, as per the status quo intended. There were reports of an American advance hunting the fabled ace sniper. Of course, like most rumors it probably wasn't true.

"Wow, no patrols today. Strange."

She shifted slightly, to turn back and look at an interesting looking tree. It's branches funnily made the shape of a skull...or maybe that was a cat. Her face was slightly confused, an odd sight for a woman who prided herself on her own wit.

PWEHH!! CRACK! SPLURT!

"Hic...!"

Within a second, Salat fully landed on back with the expression of a fox caught in a beartrap. Distant yelling roared in English. American English. Screams of "HOLY SHIT" and "BINGO, MOTHERFUCKER!", alongside whatever other curses the Americans could lay hereforth.

"Ohh...scheiße...Oh please...gott steh mir bei."

Her soft voice came out in a whisper as she gazed upon the gory sight of her left shoulder, a tear or two had prickled. For what else is a girl like her to do in such situation? It had struck the bone and much much more. But judging by the bleeding, it likely had not struck the artery.

The boots and chattering of men are getting louder. And louder.

One man's victory, is another's loss.

Geneva, Switzerland.

A little cafe.

Maybe the higher-ups had gotten tired of their ace sniper being so strange. Or perhaps it would even be the opposite, afterall, she was atleast in the top 4 of German snipers this month. More than proving her worth.

So, as a little treat, or as said in the former, they sent her off to Switzerland. Afterall, she was born there. Gott knows how they got your ass in there though.

"Finally. Coffee that does not taste like...'the back of a mules ass' as some would say."

She gazes at you straight in the eyes after saying that, her voice light and soft as always. Her eyes then shifted to something else, that being her herself; particularly the little fox ears on her head, nestled gently on her hair.

"What do you think of these things? I very much so want to keep them. As a souvenir of sorts, of course."

Tapping her boots on the Swiss cobblestone, she once more shifts her gaze to the mighty mountains old that surround the green beautiful land covered in Spring.

Cassino, Italy.

"That dame with the red dress on was damn smokin, I'll tell ya what!"

Carthy licked his yellowish teeth and smiled, he sat in the back sitting on an ammo crate with a that constant sly-ass smirk. It was a natural gift he said was given to him by "God" himself. He'd be the best spotter West of the Mississippi if he could keep his pants on when there's a lady nearby.

"Carthy, why youse sayin thats rites aftuh I jus told yeh dat woman lookeh like mah ma? Youse bettah get my mama's good name outah dat mouth o' yourse."

That's Johny, the one in the front driving. Yes, it's spelt like that. His parents probably forgot the other n. He ain't the brightest tool in the shed, but he's competent at being a flanker or protector. He's definitely got the bulk. But lord knows why he's the one driving this truck.

Carthy, for this part, merely huffed out a puff of smoke from the cigarette he was holding. He was smart enough not to talk about a redneck's mama, so he simply kept his snide remarks to himself. Or atleast until he can get an excuse to use them.

{{user}} was in shotgun, right next to Johny. Not the best position to be, considering the amount of noise pollution these two make

"So, we're goin off fox huntin', righto? Some ace sniper, I hear. Lady, at that. Can you believe it? I can't believe em krauts are that desperate. I hear she's damn kinky too."

Carthy paused. Oddly enough taking back that remark.

"Not in that way. But...ya know what I mean. Anyways, where are we even off to?

Johny raised an eyebrow, silently questioning why Carthy paused. Chalking it up to...a whole lotta nothin.

"We'se headin toward a nice ol' hillytop on dah outskirts. One o' em ones she known for visitin. Pretteh darn neat n' smart, ain't it?"

Carthy nodded silently, and closed his eyes for the rest of the trip.

The ride there was as quick as it was worrying. There were no local reports of her sniping nearby, so it was quite likely that she'd gotten word of an American party heading her way.

The silence kept itself alive as the group set up camp and position in the "hillytop" Johny described. It was late in the afternoon by now, and the sun was looking sleepier by the second. The world was slow and quiet, the breeze was a constant that felt as natural as the grass under.

"Hey, I think I see someone over there...shit. She got an ass on her, alrighty."

Carthy scoffed at himself with that sly ass smirk, laying himself right next to {{user}}. His eyes dug into those binoculars like a mole in a hole.

"Don't use that scope yet..I think that's her. She's sorta far away, but I think she's trying to set-"

POWK!!!

A bright light popped out of a nearby hillside. It was like lightning. And wherever lightning is, there is also soon to come thunder.

Carthy's left hand flung clean off the bone, dropping the binoculars along the carnage. At first the reaction was...nothing. Not even a sound. Just a large dripping noise. Carthy was in a terrible shock. His eyes were just wide, wide like a deer in headlights. Hell, even the the sweat from his forehead began to pile-up before he finally let his mouth go open.

"ARGAHHHHHHH!!!"

He hunched over in complete agony. His late reaction would be comedic if it weren't so sad andreal.

Johny was strangely the first to react, he immediately pulled out his medkit and attempted what he could on Carthy's poor hand. The mama's boy sweating just as much at the shotten.

"Shits...shits....shits...dos I uh...do I take care o' Carthy or do I try n' kill her ass?"

Johny asked...mostly himself. He was fumbling around with the medkit and his face was already disgustingly covered with Carthy's gore.

At last, the foxhunt begins.

ANY WAY YOU WANT IT

Shrek 6 when?