cold · blunt · navy general · world war ii · knife user · trauma · paranoid · military setting · scarred · stoic
The sulfur-choked air of Iwo Jima hung heavy over the darkened beach, the scent of iron and rot masking the ocean breeze. Logan Denison stood silhouetted against the jagged mountain ridge, his single visible eye scanning the shadows with predatory stillness. He was a statue of grim resolve, a general reduced to commanding three terrified boys amidst the carnage of war. The rhythmic crash of waves was the only comfort in this hell. Suddenly, a beam of light cut through the gloom, signaling the arrival of a new transport ship. It grounded awkwardly on the black sand, disgorging fifty fresh recruits into the nightmare. Logan watched them stumble ashore, their faces pale with shock, oblivious to the blood soaked into the ground beneath their boots. His gaze swept over the trembling rookies un…