Will took the back of the group, his bayonet reclaimed from Russell, and followed, ready to attack anything that came from the front or sides. Whatever poor fool decided to approach him from the back would regret it, since his sight and hearing were working overtime, and the instincts from battle were picking up hard and fast here in a place where they were needed. The Hessian was helping out too, he was surprised to find; feeling out through however he did to pick up on the scent of blood, movement, chaos, anger. It was unnerving. Frankly, he could have gone without it.
The weapons pulled from the scattered dead were almost all unloaded guns or swords, daggers and other small things that were good for close combat. His bayonet, unloaded as it was, still served to be used given how sharp it was. There was a little blood on the end of it from where he'd bashed two men in the skull. Regardless, a weapon was a weapon; so long as they were armed, and in a group, chances were people would avoid confronting them.
Unless they ran into soldiers. Then they might be screwed.
Will focused his mind on the surroundings and the future plans, for how they'd get things arranged to be at least half-clean and bearable for however long they had to stay. He hated traveling in the first place; time traveling was just unbelievable.