War is not beautiful. The reality of true hopelessness, of true fear, of the way a man turns when he’s faced with his own mortality has almost no redeeming qualities. The way God only appears within His soldiers at the moment they die, the tan sandy color of dust and utter demolition, the white flakes that fall from chapped, shredded skin does not interest the eye. There is no love lost between the pure red crimson scarle...