We killed, but they were too many.

Once more the great butt came crashing forward, this time caving in the entire door, bursting it back upon its hinges.

In through the opening the red mob hurled itself, reckless of death or wounds, mad with the thirst for victory; a jam of naked beasts, crazed by the smell of blood--a wave of slaughter, crested with brandished guns and gleam of tomahawk.
There is nothing to remember--nothing but blows, curses, yells, the crunch of steel on flesh, the horror of cruel eyes glowering into yours, the clutching of fingers at your throat, the spit of fire singeing you, the strain of combat hand to hand--the knowledge that it is all over, except to die.

I had no sense of fear; no thought but to kill and be killed.

I felt within me strength--desperate, insane strength.