"Co'mon SOLDIER! Give the order!" The harsh voice whispered into the ear of Lieutenant William Kelley. He sweated, it was due less from the heat and humidity that were prevalent in The 'Nam and due more to the situation at hand.

There was a sharp pain as the tip of the razor-edged knife was wiggled. The pain wasn't really what bothered the lieutenant, but the placement of the knife was: right at his kidney. Both men lay in the thick grass, looking at the village in front of them, the village of My Lai in the midst of Pinkville.

"Give the order!" Growled Gunnery Sergeant Gadsen. He moved the knife lightly up and down to create a superficial slice that barely penetrated the skin. He was sick of this chasing the enemy about. "Give the order!"

*Engage the enemy. Engage the enemy,* the LT said over the radio, *assume all civilians have moved out to go shopping. All remaining personnel are to be considered VC...*

"And the rest, too," Gadsen pushed the knife lightly to emphasize the point.

*No one is to be left alive. I want a good body count.*

The snipers opened up first, taking out anyone that seemed in any position of leadership. These were mostly old men and a few women- thrown like rag dolls as the powerful bullets struck. A few rat-a-tat-tats followed as the platoon advanced with squad LMGs and M-16's belched their lethal metal bursts.

There was no resistence, only women, elderly folk, and children running in all directions. The platoon advanced more quickly, curtailing the escape with pointed threats. Soon, all the remaining villagers were bunched together and surrounded by two dozen men with assault rifles. The other two squads went about searching the huts, occasionally pulling another old man or woman, teenage woman, or child out shoving them into the bunch. A pair of soldiers pulled a small woman-likely a teen-and grinned at the LT and the Gunnie.

Gadsen gave them a thumbs up and they hustled her to one of the village huts. Soon, other soldiers found targets for their lusty violence as well. The Gunnie took an offered cigarette, lit up his and that of Corporal Williams, and took a few long puffs.

By the time that he was finished, the women, clothing now tattered or missing altogether, were returned to the bunch. "Line 'em up, folks. The less VC crawling around in tunnels, the better."

"The brats, too?" questioned Private Edwards-the new blood to the squad, fresh from boot.

Gunnie Gadsden merely answered, "nits make chiggers make lice."

He sat back and recalled his first ever action. It was quite a while ago by normal human time. For Gadsen, it almost seemed to be like yesterday...

Johnny Reb was running. And Shermans' Brigade followed them. Across the road they ran, their formerly well ordered line no longer a line. Each man was jogging or running now up the grass-covered hill. The artillery had Union batteries shifted their fire from the disorganized right side of the Confederate line now more towards the center.

Private George Gadsen jogged with his battalion occasionally stopping to reload, but for the most part, just trying to keep Johnny Reb going. He could see the enemy officers attempting to inspire their troops to stand, but to little effect. Once, Gadsen had stopped to shoot at a horsed officer who had gathered a cluster around him. Technically, aimed shooting at officers was discouraged, but to the young private, it seemed to just make sense to take out the leaders.

Finally the battalion that Gadsen's battalion was pursuing caught up to another Confederate formation, but these men were withstanding the barrage of guns and artillery fire. General Bee, the leader of the demoralized men shouted, "General, they are beating us back!"

General Thomas Jackson steadied his horse and replied in a calm shout, "Then we will give them the bayonet."

General Bee turned his horse and shouted to his men, "Look! There is Jackson, standing like a stone wall. Rally behind the Virginians!"

Private Gadsen slowed his jog as did the others of the battalion. This damned General Jackson was the problem. He raised his rifle and took a bead on the big bearded man. It was only twenty yards, an easy hit for a shot like Gadsen.

Then, "Crack!". He heard that shot even above the din of the other guns and shouts. A bullet glanced off of his gun and ricocheted, striking his eye. Instead of pulling the trigger to bring down General Jackson, Gadsen turned and fired at the Confederate soldier who had shot him...and killed his brother with a shot through the head.

...That memory brought Gunnery Sergeant Gadsen back to the present. Total War. It was an old concept. Stonewall Jackson was a steadfast leader and tactical genius, but William Tecumseh Sherman knew how to win wars. Sherman used Total War when he burned Atlanta and devastated the South as he marched to the sea. Reduce the enemies capability to wage war and you will beat him. It was a lesson that Gadsen had just given to Lt. Kelley.

Custer and the other Generals of the U.S. Cavalry understood it, too, when they fought the Indians. Destroy the enemies capability to wage war...

The steady soft whisper of windswept hills and valleys was interrupted by the low talk. The General was talking with his two Crow scouts. Corporal Gadsen signaled his men to ready as he watched Custer while the scout named "Curley" pointed down the valley. There was a village there and Custer intended to bring it to the ground. Major Reno's and Captain Benteen's troops were bringing the other sides of the pincer. Custer's fast riders had taken the longest route. The Sioux and Cheyenne would be taken down and there would be no escape.

Custer signalled to the battalion and they rode down from the bluff into the river basin. They could see the tips of tipi poles and pressed hard. The General would get more prestige by being first in the village before Reno and Benteen. However, the General had more ego and political ambition than tactical understanding. The Sioux and Cheyenne knew the lay of the land for the Black Hills were sacred to them. Custer only understood the latter on the surface-after all it was Custer that announced that the Black Hills were rich in gold. On a deeper level, the Sioux and Cheyenne really KNEW the Black Hills. They had outmaneuvered Reno, and now they fell upon Custer's battalion.

The sky tumbled and earth buffeted Gadsen as his horse was shot out from under him. Men and horses all about fell from arrows and a few gunshots. Standing up in wonderment, Gadsen saw that a bullet and two arrows had hit him. But the thing that was wonderful was that his body spat out the bullets and arrows and the wounds closed quickly. He looked all about as cavalry soldiers fell and died. Custer, himself was unhorsed nearby, but not himself struck. Another bullet struck Gadsen in the chest, but again the bullet was pushed out of his body as his wound closed.

Only two cavlrymen remained, surrounded by innumerable Indians. Custer sat low on the ground, his hands held high in the air in surrender. Gadsen just stood there, occasionally taking a bullet or arrow, wounds that his body quickly healed.

One Cheyenne rode up to Custer and casually fired a bullet through his head. Then, a number of them fired guns and arrows at Gadsen, but still he stood. They seemed concerned and made signs that seemed to be superstitious or warding, then they all left.

...That was when George Gadsen knew that he was special. He could get wounded, but he would never die. Not by bullets, not by poisons...

French cigarettes were never as good as American ones, but they were theo only ones avialable at the moment. Sergeant Gadsen of the U.S. Army walked through the trenchworks looking at the French Colonial soldiers. Warfare was a slow, very lethal business now. Machine guns and high explosive artillery made advancing against entrenchments basically a meatgrinder operation mathematically defined as bodies minus bullets. Men sat, playing cards, talking, or sleeping in the trenches while a few of their comrades peeked over the edge to see if the Krauts were up to something.

Right now, the United States stayed out of the Great War, but it seemed like every now and then, some politician or other would play the bugle. So, the Pentagon wanted to see what was happening. So, Gadsen and a few other officers and NCOs were 'touring the trenches' for a week before they returned back to the Paris Embassy and then headed home.

His first cigarette burned out so Gadsen stooped to talk to a pair of card-plaing French troopers. He took out a small wrapped bar and saked, "Chocolate for a cigarette?"

One man didn't even look up, he merely tossed in a pair of cars. The other looked up and grinned a decent smile beneath a thick layer of dirt. "Oui, monsieur." He reached into a pocket and retrieved his pack of smokes. The he sniffed with his nose and looked curiously about. "Mustard?"

Gadsen noticed the odor, too. rations in the trenches definitely did not come with condiments. Had someone secured a case of mustard, or even a jar, to go along with his rations? He, too, looked about, but saw nothing. Of course, in the trenches, smells traveled in strange ways.

Taking the cigarette, Gadsen left the pair, glancing back to see the second soldier greedily unwrapping the chocolate bar. An hour later, screams began echoing through the trenches. Gadsen began feeling pain in his hands and face-the most exposed surfaces-and itching throughout most of the rest of his body. His eyelids, too hurt and itched at the same time.

Gadsen fell to the ground in pain and his eyelids had puffed up so much that they didn't open. The screams around him stopped, but he was in constant pain. For how long, he didn't know. He tried to crawl and felt bodies on the ground, but crawling was difficult with the labyrinthine layout of the entrenchments and the pain. Everyone else, it seemed was dead.

Only Gadsen was alive, kept alive by his rapid healing. Only now, he wished he were dead. His body was continually healing itself, but the mustard gas was continually damaging his body with blisters on his skin and in his lungs.

...He hated that memory most of all. Being kept alive and dying at the same time. He would never get into that situation again. Never.

War was what he knew. And he knew that even if he couldn't die, he could hurt. Gunnery Sergeant Gadsen watched with a satisfied smile as the men of his platoon forced the prisoners into a ditch and the opened up full automatic.

Total War. It was the only way to win.

General Uprising has lived for a long long time. War has been his god. Every war that the United States has been involved with George has been there. His long life has shown him the long view of things. As the leader of Seven Soldiers, he maintains this attitude. When George forms a strategy, it’s always one of many layers, with fall back positions, and options in case things go totally wrong. He has been doing this since the Civil War, and his plans are always masterful.

General Uprising sees himself as the ultimate patriot. He has bled for United States, and even died for his country countless times. General Uprising is saddened by the state of affairs of the nation. For him the country has lost it drive that made it a super power. General Uprising is going to see the country great again, whether it wants it or not.

As a soldier for life, General Uprising has learned about sacrifice. He has put his life on the line so many times, has died for the cause of America, that giving his all is all he knows how to do. While his powers keep him from really dying, he does feel pain, and the pain from actually dying is the worst. However, for General Uprising it is the sacrifice that is important, and pain is nature’s way of letting you know that you are still alive.

"Son, I'm afraid you done tread in places you shouldn't have."

General Uprising is one of the oldest Ubers in the world. He’s virtually immortal, and isn’t sure what could actually kill him. He has been shot, poisoned, ran over, and every time he has came back. While he feels pain from attacks, he has a way shrugging it off, and that is when his body starts healing himself. It’s also very difficult to actually knock him out. General Uprising can certainly take a beating, and give it back in kind.

Over the centuries, George has always been a soldier. He got his start in the Civil War, as an infantryman, progressed to cavalry during the Indian Wars, and later to a true soldier during the first and second world wars. During this illustrious career he has honed his craft, becoming a living weapon. General Uprising is a superb hand-to-hand combatant, and a crack shot with the pistol he always keeps close. In addition to his physical skills, General Uprising is genius at strategy and military tactics.

General Uprising’s appearance can be deceiving. He looks like he could be someone’s grandfather. George is whiplash thin, but what he has is all muscle for a man who looks like he’s in his eighties. He wears an eye patch over his left eye, the only wound that never healed itself. George also wears glasses, even though he doesn’t really need them. In one hand he always has a lit cigarette. George likes to wear button up sweaters, and jeans. However, when working with Seven Soldiers, he’ll occasionally put on body armor underneath a generals uniform.