They had said that the freed men would love us – that had been a lie. The war was true, though, so we fought. I fought for my son. I hoped he would not need to fight for me. My men fought for me. Some died. We all fought for the ones who had died.

One day we drove over a bump in the road – it was a bomb. Our truck was cut in two. So was the man next to me – an old friend, no more. Smoke filled the air – shapes moved – my rifle sang. I was trapped. They took me. I kicked. They kicked back. All was dark.

Soon I saw a light – they were filming me, with a blade to my neck. I hoped my wife and son would not see. Thank God I was deemed worth more whole. For ten days I sat in the dark. They gave me stale food and drink.

One day I heard rifle fire, far away. Then the sound of friends; I called out, I wept. They cut me loose, took me home. I held my wife and son, as I had feared I might not.

Next week I go back. I have more fight in me yet. The bombs still go off. This time I will not let them get me.

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