[ WP ] Write an epic battle

The forest became quiet. The birds chirping, leaves dancing, and noise of cicadas all silent. All the soldier could hear was his steadying breath, distant coughing, quiet mumbling. Every few minutes he would grip his rifle as tight as he can readying for the moment he would need to use it, but nothing happened. There was nothing but silence. 
 
 He welcomed this uncomfortable silence. It calmed his nerves and allowed him to keep his composure. First day of battle may be his last day was all he thought. There was no glory, no show of bravery, nor inspiring moments in the last few hours. Those few hours consisted of only cowardly retreat and death. He was ordered to retreat, his whole platoon was or what was left of it. He felt like a coward although it was orders he was following. Was it because of orders or fear of dying? A question he was afraid to answer. 
 
 A soft moan startled him. It was enough to pull him out of his thoughts. It came from the riverbank downhill from his position. Was it an enemy soldier or a friendly? He could n't tell from the blood and mud that coated to figure's uniform. The figure with only one arm operable was begrudgingly pulling himself towards the dryer part of the riverbank. Every few seconds he would stop and moan in pain then start to move again. He got quieter as he approached the riverbank and once on dry land stopped moving. No sound or movement came out of him. He was dead. 
 
 The soldier gulped and took a deep breath to calm himself. He was used to seeing death but his mind took damage from this one. The river was shallow, only reaching up to his knees. Bodies littered the river. Because of how shallow the water is the bright silhouettes of bodies were clearly visible to him. Bodies stacked up on each other some high enough to act as cover. It will be a sight that would never leave the soldier's mind. 
 
 A firm hand patted him on the shoulder. It radiated compassion and care, something he has n't felt all day and something he desperately needed. It was his squad leader, a grizzled veteran. He was short and stocky yet had the age lines of one older than his age. His uniform was dirty, ripped, and caked with both blood and mud. He gave a reassuring look to the soldier and told him they'll be fine. He wanted to make sure his men were still sharp and ready for the next attack. 
 
 An attack that came as quiet and swift as the wind. Whizzes and pings sounded off at once near him. The soldier ducked in time to see the bullet holes on the rock face behind him. Within a moment the forest erupted in the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the dying screaming for their mothers. 
 
 His squad leader pulled him up and out of his moment of shock. The soldier gripped his rifle tight and fired at the general direction his squad was firing at. He did n't know where the enemy was, but he felt safer firing together with his squad. Ducking to reload the soldier takes quick glances to his left and right. He saw soldiers firing their guns like mad men, soldiers cowering behind their cover, and bodies that were lying in pools of blood. 
 
 From his left a scream echoed out the directions and whereabouts of the enemy. Soon after a deafening scream of machine gun fire showered an area of trees and rocks. The area was where most of the fire was coming from. The only reason the soldier had an idea of where the enemy were was because of his comrades yelling out positions. He wanted to look and yell out for positions too, but he did n't want to the end up the soldiers lying down on the group in a pool of their own blood. 
 
 A younger comrade a little farther away from the soldier stuck his head out to get a clear view of the riverbank downhill. In the middle of him yelling directions a colorful blast of red coated the tree behind him and his body dropped dead. It was missing a head. The soldier was ordered to man one of the heavy machine guns overlooking that same downhill riverbank. Reaching the gun the soldier had to move several bodies that stacked and piled around the gun. He took quick glances towards the bank and fired blindly into where the was guessing the enemy were at. If his head came up and the wrong moment he would end up joining the pile behind him. This was a thought he was struggling to shake off. 
 
 A few other soldiers joined his position helping to suppress the enemies and put up an aggressive wall of bullets. He felt more safer and confident in sticking his head up to see the enemy. Once the fire ceased around that area the soldier and his few comrades moved quickly to a new spot to help support the dwindling soldiers holding against an endless amount of enemies. 
 
 The area they were defending was dry empty space. It was the fastest way uphill and the most deadly from lack of cover. However the piling bodies provided to be good cover for an aggressive advance. His squad leader knew that defending that area would be fruitless and pure suicide, but it was enough to buy time for the wounded to pull back. 
 
 They were slowly being overrun with the enemy running into foxholes readying their bayonets. The soldiers closest to the enemy were already dead, either through gunshot wounds or stab wounds. The soldier was able to pick off few enemies jumping into his trench. One enemy soldier he shot right in the windpipe. The enemy soldier grabbed his throat as he gasped for air. His blood spraying out of the wound and misting the soldier. 
 
 They were pulling back. The wounded have moved up to safer ground and those the were able to pull out in time were quickly digging in preparing for the assault. The soldier was one of the last few to stay behind covering for his retreating comrades. As he pulled himself out of the trench and started his run to safety several bullets whizzed past by him. A few ended up tearing through his right thigh and leg causing his femur to shatter. 
 
 The pain was excruciating, he wanted to scream but he did n't. He had to conserve his energy and try to crawl uphill. However he knew that climbing uphill would be impossible because if the enemy bullets killed him the amount of blood he's losing will. He was n't going to make it, yet he still trying to crawl upwards. His comrades supporting him as best as the can drawing fire from him and returning twice the amount of fire they're drawing. The thought of his comrades risking themselves for him to get to safety was enough encouragement for him to at least try. 
 
 He was n't going to make it. The support he was getting dwindled as his comrades retreated further back or died trying. It was bleak yet he did n't want to die in vain. He crawled into a small crater where a dead soldier with a machine gun laid. With adrenaline powering him he wrestled the gun from the tight grip of the dead body and position himself to face the enemy. 
 
 If he was to die he wanted to die as a hero facing great odds yet still fighting on bravely. He wanted to prove to himself that he was n't a cowered even if it involved his death. He opened fire, the machine gun spraying in random directions as he tried to steady it. He was able to slow down the advance though taking down several of the enemy and causing the others to pull back to cover. 
 His volume of fire was unrelenting. It reached to the point where the enemy were too afraid to fire back knowing that they'd receive more fire than they'd send. 
 
 The soldier's vision was starting to fail and his body starting to relax. He still kept his tight grip on the gun and glued his finger on the trigger. He was n't going to die as a coward he was to die with glory. Eventually he succumbed to his wounds yet his finger still on the trigger expending all the remaining bullets leaving only a clicking noise. 
 
 Because of the amount of time the soldier was able to buy in his last stand the comrades immediately the opportunity to counter attack as the enemy hid behind their cover afraid of getting shot. With roars of lions and screams of sirens the remaining troops ran down the hill bayonets out finding any exposed solder to impale. The enemy could n't react in time. The enemy soldiers panicking started a sloppy retreat with many of them cut down with both gunfire and bayoneting. 
 
 The soldiers comrades were able to win that battle pushing the enemy back with an aggressive counter attack. They quickly won back the land they lost and caused the few remaining enemy troops to surrender. It was a bloody but great victory for them. The soldier's comrades erected a large wooden cross on the hill he died on as a way to remember his sacrifice. His name and who he is may have been lost in yet, however the cross still stands there today. The cross now marble stone and no longer wood. The aging comrades that are still alive come every often to honor and give respects to the soldier. 
 
 He was an unnamed soldier that became an unnamed hero turning the tide of war to his people's victory. 
 
 His name forgotten, but his legacy always remembered.
