To vote down the enemy, we charged into heavy artillery fire. Minimizing casualties, our number-one priority. Exposure greater than ever before, even after our ports and our borders were secured against acts of terrorism, against foreign incursions.
Trying to understand, after all these years, why search-and-rescue teams always had to fight their way uphill and across treacherous moats just to win hearts and minds that were not disposed to being won. Enemy cameras watched our advance from the top
of the walls, behind the gleaming coils of razor wire, unable to distinguish our regular troops from flesh-and-blood human beings. The arrest of suspected fifth-columnists cheered us for the moment, and we fought our way upward and onward,
across the pyroclastic flow, ground so hot our boots would melt, thirty-four barefoot runners from the Seychelles, the last to fall.