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Yeah...I saw that, Barrett thought as he watched the dead rise from the ground.

He thought, for a moment, about calling some sort of question in German to the approaching soldiers, but decided against it when he saw that their helmets were definitely British in design.

"Fire!" He roared, thrusting his hand forward in such a way that it gave visual confirmation of his order, "Gun those Brits down!"

He felt a bit of relief in the resulting gunfire. The sound seemed to ward away any fears that welled inside him. The effect was shortlived, though, as he quickly realized that the bullets were hardly effective. He watched in horror as the slain soldiers rose again, or didn't fall at all, and continued on their path. Upon witnessing this, he did something he had never even dreamed of in his entire life; he took a step backward.

((Zantaro kun, try to keep your posts in the Third-Person Perspective. Imagine this like we're writing a book and each of us is contributing a page, paragraph, or something. You know how in books it always says "He went and did this thing," rather than "I went and did this thing,"? It's like that. Bascially it's like you're talking about yourself but as someone else, someone who knows a creepy amount of information about you. Also, you might want to make sure you keep it in the past tense. You have been so far, but I thought I would tell you. Anyway, this time is okay, so you don't have to change it, just think about that in your next post and such.))

Barrett shook his head in disbelief as the horde of soldiers kept approaching. He had personally put out a whole stripper-clip of ammunition with his Mauser and was in the middle of reloading when Mordecai asked him what to do. That was an excellent question, but it was just a bit off. The better question was, what could they do? As far as he was concerned, this may very well be the appocalypse which left it out of their hands.
He was on the brink of letting despair over-come him, when he remembered who he was. Gritting his teeth as he thought of a plan, he regained the step he had taken backwards previously.

"We fight, that's what we do," he growled, pushing the bolt of his rifle home and raising it to take another shot.

For some reason, he felt as though it were futile to shoot for the torso, which, in truth, it seemed to be in this case. He felt that he had nothing to lose by aiming for the head, but everything to gain.
When he fired, he was admittedly surprised to see the soldier he had hit go down and cease to function. Nevertheless, a new idea popped into his head.

"Aim for the head!" He shouted, "The head is their weakness! Shoot for the heads!"

Barrett found no relief in the fact that he had discovered how to kill the creatures early on, as there were easily hundreds of them, many gaining a good deal of ground before being gunned down. A few of them had already made it to the trench and were promptly tearing apart any soldiers they could get their hands on.
The clicking sound of bolts being pulled back and slid home and the sharp reports in between made him concious of the fact that he had only a few clips of ammunition left in the small satchel at the base of his harness and he imagined that those under his command were facing similar issues. They hadn't a chance of holding out at this rate.
Taking a brief moment after downing another monster and readying the next bullet, his last before needing to reload, he searched his mind for the best order to give his men.
His thoughts were interupted by the wet, ripping sound of flesh being torn from bone and the agonized and dread filled screams that resulted.
This drew his attention to one of the nightmares as it attempted to pin down another soldier.
Taking quick, yet precise, aim, he freed the man of the burden of an incredibly slow and painful death. The creature went limp as a large red flower bloomed where the upper portion of its head had been.

"Fall back to the inner trenches! Pick up those rifles! We need as many shots as we can get!" he roared, finally finding the right command.

As his soldiers began to obey, he turned to leave, pausing only briefly to draw his sidearm, a Luger, and put one man out of his misery, taking him before the terrible figure that insisted on devouring him could it its sick manner.

Supplies were dropped and machine guns abandoned as the soldiers followed Barrett's order, many scrambling to do so as they tried to fight off of flee from the undead at the same time. The situation in the trench was quickly going downhill and it seemed, at the moment, as though there was little anyone could do about it. With so many men frantically attempting to retreat to the trench lines set up farther away from the British trenches a few were bound to fall.

One man was even trampled as his terrified comrades stampeded past him to reach an area of relative safety. Barrett shoved past a few of his subordinates to prevent another, younger male, from sharing the same fate, pulling him to his feet with his spare hand and pushing him in the direction he need to go. The last to leave, he himself became the target of one of the menacing, mud encrusted horrors which bore its teeth at him as it lunged foward.

His dominant hand already free from having help the soldier to his feet, Barrett pulled back his arm, tensing the muscles in his shoulder, and let the creature have a taste of the famous right hook that had earned him his nickname as a boxer before the war. He knew full well that at best it would merely halt to progress of the abomination for a second or two longer, but that was enough for him to draw upon his weapon of choice in such confined spaces as he was currently in, the standard digging spade, which was strapped to his belt for easy access in such an occasion.
With the tool-turned-weapon in hand, he struck the monster, caving in its skull, and wrenched it free of the cavity it had made.

Now his attention turned to Mordecai, who was being attacked by five of the automatons at once. Having no time to properly put away his recently used shovel, he simply jammed it into the dirt wall beside him and raised his rifle, using the final shot for that clip to put one of the ghouls down. He hoped it would give the young would-be sniper time to escape past his superior. Barrett, at least, could probably handle the remaining few, but the boy himself had little chance.

"Come, boy!" He barked, encouraging him to run, "Follow the others! I'll cover your escape!"