Seeing death all around him was not an alien sight to Michael. Neither was the sight of friends being mowed down in front of him. The blood-soiled sand, the thousands of casings. He had seen it a long time ago. Pools of blood collecting in between the bricks and potholes. When the landing craft's doors first opened, he had seen those that were dead, and when he stepped foot on the sand itself, he could hear them, screaming in agony. He actually blanked out for a moment when he heard the barking of orders somewhere nearby. They were going to unload. Like always, Michael couldn't see where he could help, and to him, the natural way of knowing was by asking. And so, he did. He approached a man who was being handed crates for him to just stack by the beach. The man was middle-aged and buff, yet he was only a private, like Michael. "Excuse me," Michael said softly; "what can I do to help?"

The man sighed deeply, and when the other person handing him boxes said that they were good, he turned to look at the boy. "You're a little young, aren't you?" the man asked. 
"No sir, I'm nineteen," Michael replied.
"Thin, fair, graceful movement, way too polite for my taste. You must be Disas. What are you, like, a son of a noble or something?"
"No, sir, I'm the son of an officer," replied Michael.
"Well, I don't care," the man interrupted. "If you want to make yourself useful, you can start carrying these boxes over to point B. Honestly, I don't know where that is, so just follow those guys," he added, pointing to other soldiers transporting crates full of supplies. "Or can't you lift that? You look way too thin... but then again, you probably were raised and kept inside your little noble house."
"I'll go and transport some crates," Michael politely said despite the clear insult, grabbing a box. Being raised a sickly boy, he was weaker than most other soldiers. Really, he was merely a compromise, a nothing compared to the others. However, that won't impede him. The only reason he had combat experience was thanks to the fact that he joined the soldiery because of his devotion to his country. 

Michael pushed aside his gun, and picked up the first crate in front of him. He had a small bit of trouble lifting the first crate of ammunition, but eventually, he got around to doing just that. It wasn't too heavy, lucky for him. He was careful in putting the boxes of ammunition down, taking time in actually organising the crates he managed to get to point B. After all, he wanted to be as organised as possible so he could make up for being a compromise.