Super quick key to brush the rust off

[Flow]

Sergeant John Mitchell, stands a action man with no equal,
Commands fallen people, crawling away from whats lethal,
Bullish bullets storm towards heads; the bulls eyes are red,
Broken bodies dart forwards, hes stepping over comrades that are dead.
Fed up with the war, four turn their backs ready to leave..
Then scream as a legion of shrapnal peirces their greaves.
His pores pour sweat prosperous, with blood that is crimson,
The gore glistens like the bosporus, as men limping are stricken.
His vision is blurry, his collected decisions infected with fury,
He delivers derision at the mission given, his mens deaths are too early,
He turns to see a diseased demon, a evil heathen thats weakened,
Only one bullet is needed, this demon is beaten,
he shouts "this is for freedom".