After that deafening explosion, we could just barely hear the frenzied screams of what few survivors the detonation had left retreating. For a minute, all was quiet.

Stimson’s tinny voice wafted over the network of holes. “We still alive?”

Thorvald angrily spat back, “Of course we’re still alive, you big dummy!”

“Shut up!” I ordered.

I was examining my firearm when a cold hand seized my arm in a vice grip. Instinctively, I whirled around and almost smashed Dulles’ face. “Don’t do that again!” I growled.

He stared at me, his eyes empty of everything—fear, relief, anger. The lack of definiteness behind those windows took me aback. I relaxed; he relaxed.

Our surroundings were littered with the dregs of battle. It was imperative that we had a clean line of fire, and time was of the essence, so we decided to clear the area. When we went up to actually do so, however, we had a revelation that shocked and sickened us. We finally got a good look at our attackers.

These enemies we were fighting were Chinese.