"Attach Bayonets!" Sergeant Williams says seeing the battle rage on and even for the sharpshooters hitting an ally was high now. 

As we all were getting ready to join the carnage some men began praying while looking ready to piss themselves. Others looked bloodthirsty ready to be killed since they enjoyed it. Personally, I felt nothing, no fear, no blood lust, nothing. 

"Charge!" Sergeant Williams says then blows a whistle as we all give a battle cry and charge from the woods. 

Many of the Confederate soldiers gave a quick look over and seeing an additional twenty or so men join the charge made them freeze up for a second. However, that caused them their lives as they were either shot, clubbed, or stabbed. Though some were able to fire upon us, I heard some of my brothers get hit and go down with a cry of pain. 

I felt a jolt of pain but ignored it knowing nothing here could kill me, though with each shot hitting me my anger was quickly rising. Then as I began fighting in the frey, I got stabbed in the back and afterwards I blacked out. 

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(Sergeant Williams POV)

I took out my Saber and charged with my men as we collided with the bastards who thought they could own another human being. I then began quickly cutting down any of the bastards who came close to me while shooting the others with my revolver. Unfortunately, my men were slowly falling down one by one, then I saw our best shooter James Howlett get stabbed in the back. 

"James!" I shouted since he was our best shot. 

However, what I saw next was not something I was expecting and changed the tide of the battle very quickly. James turned toward the man who stabbed him and returned the favor stabbing him back. Though James seemed to have lost himself as the rage in his eyes looked endless. James didn't just stab the man he stabbed him so hard the rifle went through the man and James lifted him in the air while growling like an animal. 

James then threw the man off his rifle and turned toward another stabbing him in the throat with such strength that the man's head almost came off his shoulders. James then went on a killing spree stabbing man after man. Before his bayonet got stuck in one man, then he resorted to beating the men with his rifle. 

The strength behind his every strike caused heads to cave in like watermelons and bones to be broken like twigs. Even our men stopped in awe, fear, or both watching this spectacle of death by James. At one point even his rifle snapped in half after being used like a club, before James just resorted to beating the men with his fists. 

Hell, his fists seemed just as deadly as the rifle somehow, as every strike from them took men down the same. Even as the Confederates were retreating and running James chased down as many as he could. The last man I saw him kill was very brutal grabbing him and lifting him in the air before bringing him down snapping his spine like someone would a stick on their leg. 

Everyone seemed to hesitate as James was standing there covered in blood from head to toe. No one wanted to approach him, afraid he'd turn his anger to them. Suppressing my fear and hesitation, I approached him hoping he calmed down by now. 

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(Logan POV)

"James… James!" I heard and then felt Sergeant Williams put his hand on my shoulder as I turned to him with a feral look making him step back instinctually. 

"Sorry… I lost myself for–" I say as I look around seeing nothing but dead littering the field and men crying in pain as they were being carried to the medical tents. 

"James… are you hurt?" Sergeant Williams asks me as I look down at myself now and see I'm covered in blood from head to toe. My uniform is torn in several places by knife wounds and bullets. 

"No… no I'm good," I say walking away to wherever I can clean myself off. 

Sergeant Williams doesn't say anything as I walk away, though I can feel the looks from everyone as I walk through our encampment to the water bins. Seems everyone saw me lose myself and go on a killing spree. I knew Wolverine had anger issues and when pushed too far, his animalistic side would come out. But I thought I had better control of myself, though, apparently not and I would need to work on controlling my anger. 

"I'll be damned, James you really went crazy out there," one of my squad mates says being the first person to approach me as I was cleaning myself off the best I could. 

"I lost myself for a while out there it seems… I'll need to learn better control of my… rage," I say while the blimps of what I did are coming back to me. 

Seems at one point I lost my bayonet and began plumbing the Confederates with my rifle breaking it in the process and moving on with beating them barehanded. 

"I'm just glad you're on our side," he says patting my shoulder and walking away.

Over the next few hours, I helped gather the dead and everyone was telling me how crazy of a fighter I was out there. While I just nodded my head trying to think of a way to learn to control my anger instead of letting it control me. Then for the next week, we stayed in place waiting for reinforcements to hold the area, while we continued to push into Confederate territory. 

Like that, I spent the next few years marching from place to place with my company losing many men along the way. While only a handful including myself managed to stay alive through most of the war. By the time it ended, my company was the most decorated one and got a photo of its most veteran members. I was in the photo along with getting the Medal of Honor, which was even given to me by the president himself. 

Afterward, I decided it was best if I disappeared from the world and built my own cabin deep in the woods of Kansas. Where that brown bear lived nearby, he and I became neighbors though we'd leave each other alone. Years went by with my just living by myself in the woods having almost no human interaction unless I went to town for supplies. 

However, after people started to question why my appearance didn't change I would have to pack up and move to another area. Until I eventually just found a secluded spot deep in the wilderness of modern-day Washington State where I learned to be completely self-reliant. The only thing I even brought with me was my copy of my first squad's photo from the Civil War, my uniform, medal, and my Carbine rifle.

Thankfully I kept track of time, as I wanted to be a part of the World Wars, the only thing I knew how to do was be a soldier. Plus I wanted to help the best I could, I knew I could definitely save more lives by joining. However, a small part of me was scared because, by the end of the Civil War, I was starting to enjoy the lust of battle. 

I hid my metal chest filled with the only belongings I cared about, then made my way to the nearest city as I went to rejoin for the First World War. Arriving, I noticed I once again stood out looking like a caveman, as the style of the people changed in the last fifty years. While I looked like someone from the late past, ignoring the stares I made my way into the recruiter's office and signed up for the army once again. 

Thankfully I was able to get right in before the USA started doing boot camp for new recruits. I don't think I'd be able to do that again without losing my mind, especially now my experience has skyrocketed. That and I started to view everyone as kids due to me being eighty-four years old. I'll be over a hundred years old when it hits World War 2, since I was born on October 12, 1832.

The day came when my unit was sent out on April 16, 1917, ten days after the US officially declared war on Germany. We first arrived in the United Kingdom and in London, which are now considered our closest allies. From there we were ferried over to France along with the reinforcements from Britain. 

By the time we arrived, the war had been raging on for three years already. Though I knew with the USA's arrival the war would finally be ended in the next few months in the middle of 1918. The USA's army was sent to the front lines boarding Germany from France. My unit was sent to the city of Albert which was right next to the trench line we were holding from the Germans. 

It was another day of me smoking my cigars which I would always trade my rations for. While the Germans kept bombing us with artillery, while we did the same to them. I just sat there smoking ignoring the shelling as others walked around or stared off in the distance looking completely dead inside. 

Everyone knew the whistle would be coming soon and the mandatory charge would be on us. Every single time hundreds would die, but the command believed we would somehow eventually take the trench. I tried arguing with my officer, but it got nowhere, so instead I just sat there not getting close to anyone since I knew they'd be killed sooner rather than later. 

"Prepare to charge!" the officers begin shouting down the line as everyone rushes to grab their guns and bayonets. 

With a grunt, I grab my gun and attach the bayonet while still smoking my cigar. Then I stand by the ramp heading into no man's land waiting for the whistle to blow. The other men call me the luckiest man alive as I have made it through several dozen charges and am living still. So many follow me thinking they will be safe and so far a few that do are safe as I just tank the bullets. Now I barely register the pain from the shot and just keep running since my pain tolerance keeps rising every day we are at war. 

*Whistle Blowing*

"Charge!!" the officer screamed at everyone while I took one last puff and then ran forward doing my battle cry.

The others followed right behind me as the machine gun fire from the Germans began ripping people to shreds. I felt myself get hit with a dozen or so shots, but I just grunted and kept running. I was determined to make it to the trench this time so no more men would have to die from charges. But every time we take one trench there is anyways another set we have to take, an endless cycle of death every time. 

With an animalistic growl, I jump into the German trench and begin killing every man I see. Stabbing, shooting, beating, whatever I can do, I do. I've learned to have better control over my anger, but I know no matter what I do I could still lose control. I just have a longer and longer fuse to explode the more I control it. 

The only bad thing is I've become so used to death, that I feel nothing now and just kill everything around me mindlessly. By the time I'm done, I'm always covered in blood and reeking of death. With a heavy sigh, I take out a cigarette and light it while the others go around making sure the enemies are dead. 

'Fucking Christ… Maybe I'm becoming a monster," I think to myself as I feel nothing for the thousands of dead surrounding me. 

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AN: We are going to be spending a lot of time during WW1 and WW2.