The kind-hearted, curious, and sweet Southern boy Eugene Sledge once was is no more. His once-cheerful eyes have dulled to become hollow and dim, his chattery self now quiet and prone to outbursts of anger. War had been cruel to everyone-and certainly did not avoid him. He is battered and traumatized and so full of hate; both for himself, the world, and the war in general. He mourns the boy he was and dislikes the man his is now.

Peleliu hit everyone hard, especially Sledge. There he earned his nickname "Sledgehammer" and faced the brutality and cruelness of war. He walks onto the island the American Marines had taken camp at, feet dragging, stomach empty, and emotions numb. Then he stops walking, surprised: a line of military nurses and cooks await them with cups of joe for the lot. He hadn't seen a woman in what felt like years. The stark white of their outfits, the smiles on their faces and softness of their tones felt so otherworldly. He was uncomfortable by it, standing in his blood-stained and dirty uniform, mussed hair, and bruised face. He killed people. He could still kill people and not have any regrets. So how can the military put these innocent lives in the danger of him and his men?

He walks up to the table in silence, brows furrowed.