Within minutes, the battalion of 350 soldiers was decimated, reduced to a mere fraction of its original strength. The air reeked of blood, sweat, and smoke as soldiers gazed upon the carnage, their eyes wide with horror and despair. The once-coordinated unit had devolved into chaos, with soldiers fleeing in terror, only to be cut down by a deadly crossfire of enemy and friendly fire.

The sounds of war filled the air – the staccato rattle of machine guns, the ear-shattering boom of artillery, and the anguished screams of the fallen. Those who surrendered to despair knelt in the mud, their eyes vacant, their bodies trembling with fear. The enemy's relentless fire spared no one, and these helpless soldiers were swiftly eliminated, their bodies crumpling to the ground, their lives extinguished in an instant.

A solitary soldier knelt down to pray, an enemy shell hit him right on his head, detonating on impact, completely obliterating his upper half. A fountain of blood gushed out of his kneeling waist as it dropped down in a puddle of it's own blood. One soldier impaled his own eye with his bayonet by accident, he screamed and fell backwards accidentally pulling the trigger and killing himself. Another soldier tripped over an amputated limb and fell on a landmine. His head was blown off his body, his headless neck contributing generously to the shower of blood. Between the landmines, enemy shells, machine guns and bullets from allies, her battalion was reduced to nothing in no time.

In an instant, it was over. The world around her dissolved into chaos – the screams, the gunfire, the sickening crunch of metal on flesh. Emily stumbled forward, her eyes scanning the carnage around her, her mind reeling with the sheer scale of the devastation.

Musa lay a few feet away, his eyes frozen in a permanent grin,somehow, his jaw seemed to have been sawed off his face, his body torn apart by shrapnel. His ribs poking out of his blood soaked uniform. Emeka was slumped against a nearby crater, he had valiantly bolstered the moral of the soldiers by shouting out order and charging first. His eyes stared sightlessly into the distance, his limbs were complete blown off. His throat was impaled by his own bayonet.

As Emily stumbled through the wreckage, a sense of numbness settled over her, a detachment from the world around her. She felt... small. Insignificant. A tiny, insignificant speck in the grand tapestry of war.

As Emily gazed out at the ravaged landscape, a spark within her ignited. Defiance, rage, and determination coursed through her veins like liquid fire. She turned her gaze to the white allies who had callously gunned down their own, attempting to flee. Her rage boiled over, a fury unlike any she had ever known.

In that moment, Emily vowed to upend the war's trajectory, to lead a revolution that would shatter the chains of oppression. She would ignite a war within the war, refusing to rest until every African life was valued equally to the whites. A cold, calculated smile spread across her face as she surveyed the enemy's lines. Though survival seemed unlikely, Emily knew she wouldn't perish there. With a steady calm, she stepped into no man's land, her eyes gleaming with a maniacal intensity. "I'm not a man," she whispered to herself, the words fueling her unyielding resolve.

The world around her fell silent, as if holding its breath. Emily, the last survivor of her battalion, stood tall amidst the sea of death, her solitary figure undaunted. Her walk transformed into a jog, then a sprint, as she charged forward with reckless abandon, her feet pounding the blood-soaked earth.