Quotes About Combat

No tienes que ser el puto Sun Tzu para saber que la verdadera batalla no consiste en matar, ni siquiera en herir al otro, sino en asustarlos lo suficiente para que lo deje.

Funny thing about the army, they always promise to teach you "marketable skills," but they never mention that, by far, there's nothing more marketable than knowing how to kill some people while keeping others from being killed.

real fighting isn't about killing or even hurting the other guy, it's about scaring him enough to call it a day. Break

What kind of misinformation were you combating? Where do you want me to begin? Medical? Scientific? Military? Spiritual? Psychological? The psychological aspect I found the most maddening. People wanted so badly to anthropomorphize the walking blight.

It occurs to me that boredom and panic are the two devils the solitary must combat. When I lay down this afternoon, I could not rest and finally got up because I was in a sweat of panic, panic for no definable reason, a panic of solitude, I presume.

Tis a well-known fact that a man is either skilled in matters of loving or matters of war. 'Tis obvious that fighting is your skill.

Coming from light into the dark, he was looking ahead of him, not down at me. My lunge, as I came to my feet, took him in the chest as I drove the sword upward with the strength of my legs. Even rusted, the sword slid through him, and I found, for the first time, how easy it is to kill a man.

Costis, what do you think you are doing? Sparring, Your Majesty. Most people cross swords before they spar and they say something introductory like 'Begin!' before they swing.

Weapons master is giving me special lessons. she (Amily) chuckled. He calls then How Not To Get Killed lessons.

Uppercuts always work. They're so satisfying, too.

As the figure moved before him he followed the muscles as they wove beneath the skin. he was not only fighting with an assailant who was awaiting for that split second in which to strike him dead, but he was stabbing at a masterpiece -- at sculpture that leapt and heaved, at a marvel of inky shadow and silver light. A great wave of nausea surged through him and his knife felt putrid in his hand. His body went on fighting

I had a large camping knife in my hand and without thinking, I lunged at him, plunging the knife into his abdomen.

Fear is the mother of all emotion. Before love, hate, spite, grief, rage, and all the rest, there was fear, and fear gave birth to them all, and as every combat soldier knows there are as many incarnations and species of fear as the Eskimo language has words for snow.

Seconds later, they were in the midst of a full-fledged rock fight

You will not fight in the shield wall," my father said. "No, Father." "Only men can stand in the shield wall," he said, "but you will watch, you will learn, and you will discover that the most dangerous stroke is not the sword or ax that you can see, but the one you cannot see, the blade that comes beneath the shields to bite your ankles.

He sang the song of the sword, keening as he fed his blade, and Rollo, standing thigh-deep in the creek, ax swinging in murderous blows, blocked the enemy's escape. The Frisians, transported from confidence to bowel-loosening fear, began to drop their weapons.

And afterwards, you recall little, except the blows that so nearly killed you. You work and push and stab to make an opening in their shield wall. And then you grunt and lunge and slash to widen the gap. And only then does the madness take over. As the enemy breaks and you can begin to kill like a god. Because the enemy is scared and running or scared and frozen. And all they can do is die while you harvest souls.

He was watching my eyes. A man who uses a sword with lethal skill always matches his opponent's eyes.

Always fight the horse, not the rider.

That is why battles of the shield wall are slow to start. Men have to nerve themselves for the horror.

You bastard!' he shouted. He was quick. No warrior stays alive by being slow.

Thirty paces, twenty, and you can see the eyes of the men who will try to kill you, and see the spear-blades, and the instinct is to stop, to straighten the shields. We cringe from battle, fear claws at us, time seems to stop, there is silence though a thousand men shout, and at that moment, when terror savages the heart like a trapped beast, you must hurl yourself into the horror. Because the enemy feels the same. And you have come to kill him. You are the beast from his nightmares.

I was doing everything wrong. I was confused. Confusion is inevitable in battle, but indecision is unforgivable, and I had hesitated to make any decision and then made all the wrong ones.

In other words," she said tartly, "women are supposed to do all that a man can't do. And right now it seems men can't fight, so I'd better do that too.