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Those first two kills were merely a couple notches on his belt as Daniel made his way through the trenches, pushing forward at the tip of the spear as was required of a shock-trooper. His instincts were guiding his every move but did not control him. Every life he took was a conscious decision that he made quickly and without hesitation. It was sickening to see so much death on this scale but these were all nameless faces. No one that mattered to him. The scenery could only be described as coming from a person's twisted nightmare but what was one more?

The chaos of close-quarters suited him perfectly, a factor he exploited to the fullest extent. Any imperial that dared showed their distinctive helmet was picked off as he moved forward, a mere number that would never be remembered by history. Those foolish enough to try engage him up-close found themselves the victim of years fighting for scraps on the harsh streets. He wasn't interested in making them suffer, he just wanted them to die. Whatever method brought his enemies to that end was what he went with. 

As the battle for Hill 58 came to a pause or stop, a trail of bodies followed Daniel as he was in the process of adding one more to it. His uniformed was covered in blood and dirt as he stood over his latest victim. The Imperial had tried to close in on Daniel with a trench knife of fair quality, which was now lodged in the Imperial's back as he gasped for air and crawled away from the menacing form of Daniel. Daniel reached down and retrieved the knife causing the Imperial to cry out in pain before Daniel grabbed a hold of his chin tightly and pulled it back. The blade of the knife sliced across his throat spilling his blood onto the mud.

He observed, as he stood back up, the Imperials retreating from their position. This fight was won, for now. Daniel decided to keep the knife after giving it a look over. The grip had a guard that was shaped similar to brass knuckles and the back edge of the knife near the guard was jagged. A brutal tool of war that he was now going to turn onto its creators. With the enemy in retreat and the hill all but secure, he knew that now was the best time to regroup with the rest of his squad and see if they were even still alive.

By the time he got there, the majority of the squad had already regrouped. Nobody seemed to be physically hurt but the horrors of the battle seemed to be shaking the minds of some already. Everyone was dealing with the brutality and reality of what had happened with despair and consolation. The sounds of his boots sputtered against the mud as he moved in and sat on top of a wooden box against a dirt wall. He didn't need anyone to come tell him 'it was going to be alright' or that 'they'll get through it together'. How many of those poor souls laying face-first in the ground said similar things? It did irritate him slightly that they were all expressing pity for each other. Hopefully he could at least get a few minutes to relax until their next assignment.
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