I was getting severely fatigued, but I did not doze off for two reasons: One, I had a duty to accomplish, and two, it was freezing.

None of us heard anything. I still don’t know how we managed to not die during that third engagement, other than the fact that someone up there was gunning for us. In any event, somebody in the foxhole northwest of me sneezed.

That sneeze saved our lives.

There was a shriek, followed by a burst of weapons fire.

“Hit the deck!” Kirkegaard shouted.

I shot up, popped off a few rounds, ducked back down. It felt as if there were a few more of them this time. They were so sickeningly close that even in the dirt-poor light of the moon, I could see people coming at us. There were occasional vocal stabs in a language I didn’t recognize or understand.

Without warning, the firing stopped. Then there was rustling. I saw them bending over bodies; they seemed to be taking supplies from the dead.

I acted.

“GRENADE!” I shouted, lobbing the weapon over the lip of the foxhole.

Boom.