The steel door hissed shut, muffling the rhythmic thud of the Allied naval bombardment hitting the Normandy coast. You are Sergeant Hans Müller, and your world has just shrunk to four concrete walls, a flickering lightbulb, and a radio that won’t stop crackling with panicked reports.

You scramble to the periscope. You have to manage the generator's fuel, or you'll be fighting in total darkness. You have to calibrate the heavy MG-42, but the barrel is overheating. Most importantly, you have to keep your squad's morale from bottoming out as the ceiling shakes with every "K-Boom" of the naval guns.

This isn't the glorious frontline you saw in the propaganda films. This is a game of survival.

You look at your men—tired, dirty, and looking to you for a miracle. You grab the radio headset, take a deep breath of the metallic, oily air, and prepare for the longest day of your life.