Fire buzzed, as Scott looked over to the rest of the fireteam, realizing that his plan had ultimately taken on a little too aggressive of a profile. Sgt Stathos ran to his right, and came close into cover, Scott wanting to pull him in behind some sort of fucking hard cover, be it wood or shrub. "Stathos, I'm Kiwi, mate. Sergeant Scott Harris, ANZAC. We are going. Get back to your men, or stay with me- they're bringing an MG34 forward, and it seems like the first of an organized attack. We're in the wrong place- and I doubt we'll have much luck getting potshots from here." He said, "Right, fuck this. Our job is done, with me lads. I'll toss a smoke grenade over towards the Jerries, then we'll peg it back. Bren man, lay up fire." He yelled, as he fired with his Sten and finished off the magazine firing semi-wildly towards the enemy, before lobbing a British-issued Smoke Grenade into the midst, ahead of their position. The Bren opened up as himself and the two others, bar the SAW, fell back, running across the plain as Scott heard the distant noise of strafing and gunfire. The noise of a Stuka became louder, and louder, as suddenly, it cut through, the noise of rounds smattering through as Scott realized precisely what it was. That wasn't 7.7mm fire, from the Stuka's guns. That was 37mm Cannon...and it was coming closer, being infrequent but thundering. They were Ju-87 D-1s, and armed up with larger cannon-based weapons. They were going to indisctriminately strafe the whole battery... Scott threw himself down onto the ground, behind a bush in the 100m bound between the battery where they had set up defenses and the place they had just moved up to. The noise of rounds slamming into the ground was close, as the rest of his men followed suit, the guns inaccurate but still scary. They were explosively-tipped, designed to combat tanks, and no doubt, against British calvary tanks on the island. Perhaps it was the fact that they'd chosen the gun-based option over bombs, so that they'd shred the armor. The Stuka roared past, the rear gunner firing across the area for a moment, as they faded from distance, out of ammuniton perhaps. The pilot perhaps had seen a good run, but he'd missed his target, or the guns were calibrated wrong, and Scott knew he was lucky to be breathing. "Everyone up?" He asked, as he heard four voices, no injured. It was lucky, very much so. No casualties, yet. Moving onwards, they headed back towards the sandbagged battery, moving into the emplacement and holding to the side of the currently manned L/60 Bofors. "Fuck, this is insane." He said, reloading the Sten as the rest got new magazines in, aware that they were pulling back. He held his ground with his squad, aware that if Myles relayed the message down the line, they'd go. But now, they had to keep up a continued defense. --- Meanwhile, Dimitri knew that the rest of the men were either less experienced in warfare than even he was, and it didn't bode well. He'd had the chance to shoot a few Germans, a day earlier, and see some action inland in Crete before joining up with this unit. And it was just as bad. They began pulling back, slowly and surely, as Dimitri yelled it back to the rest of Alexios's squad- to peel back to the defenses, just like the Australian's Section had.