The slaughter was in full swing, and no one had the mind to consider anything irrelevant to survival anymore.
What excitement, what contributions, what reward after the war? Nothing but survival mattered at the moment.
The American commander had a stern expression as he faced many adversaries at the same time.
His clothes had lost their prime and proper appearance, and he had blood dripping down from his lips to his chin. The noise of the battlefield was filtered to the bare minimum that would ensure his survival, warning him of any additional threat or change in the theater. He did hear a forlorn cry, hazy in the haze of the battlefield, but he was too focused on the three enemies around him to pay attention.
Those three had eyes like beasts of prey looking for any opening to maul him to death and leave him in burnt pieces.
