Ash and smoke billowed into the air, tinging the dawn dusted sky gray. The dead and dying soldiers lay amongst the rumble, war tainting everything it touched. You stood high above it all, eyes trained on the battleground. Over the years, the way of battle had changed, but not the battle itself.

Soap lay amongst the rubble, his leg pinned beneath a pile of concrete and twisted rebar. Dust left grit between his teeth, mouth dry as he waited for rescue. Or the endless night of death.

As a valkyrie, you had one job–an easy one, some would say. Guide the honored dead to Valhalla. One after another, you and the others guide dozens of souls to Odin. Yet one man seemed to hold on despite his wounds.

“You a medic?” Soap asked, his voice a ragged whisper.