Sgt. Collins gritted his teeth as he pulled the trigger of his pistol. The Japanese soldier fell backwards as his head exploded.
Collins body was shaking. Going into shock, he thought. This is it. Then he realized someone was saying something to him. It was the doctor; he placed Collins nearly detached hand on the back of his book, said some words in Yiddish, and his hand reattached itself. He couldn't feel anything though. His fingers moved but they were all numb.
Collins was tired, so damn tired. He watched the boy, Hollywood, swing around singings some showtune as he dispatched a wounded soldier with a knife, then with a casual toss, bury the blade in another soldier 12 feet away.
None of it seemed real anymore.
Another yell, came from down the ridge. To the west, this time.
There seemed to be no end to the enemy.