The blast had squeezed the air out of his lungs. It had wrung the sense out of his brain. His teary eyes blurred the scene before him.

Burnt vehicle components, scattered about and lit with orange fire, produced strands of black smoke among the dirt clots covering the ground. Boots ran in the debris. Crimson blood flowed into the thirsty sand and pooled on the asphalt.

He gasped and sucked in big gulps of smoke. He choked. He managed to get some air in a breath or two.

“Get up, goddammit,” someone yelled into his ringing ears.

He sat up, instinctively grasping his rifle, and saw the column in ruins. Vehicles had been taken apart and set aflame by crude blasts. Men lay bloody and still all around the area. Others were still in the fight, returning fire under a hail of bullets.

All around his broken unit, they swarmed. Rifles, RPG’s, shotguns, machetes, pistols, clubs, rocks and fanatical fury were there weapons. The mob bled under the return fire but was too angry to break.

He prayed and fired away.