Today was an eerily quiet day in the city. Signs of battle were quietly hidden in dumpsters and alleys. You might never know that a war was going on; unless you went to the western front.
Here, the boys are being pressed back into service:
They’re doing their best given the circumstances, and sometimes even getting a helping hand from the locals. There was a big pile of yellow garbage bags where this cage used to be:
Trust me, the little Chinese lady camouflaged inside the ramshackle shop is one of us. And enjoys sitting on trash.
That’s where the 416/79 platoon is stationed. I don’t know what their strategy is, but marching around in front of summer-heated garbage seems ill-planned. Or maybe the plan is so deviously Machiavellian that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.
Despite their best planning, strategy, and all sorts of fancy antique maps with blustery men exhaling trade winds, the stark reality is that it’s far too late for some:
I’m sorry folks, but that’s the real face of war; it was never meant to be pretty. The horror and revulsion you feel is normal; tell the world what you saw here!
Now, as the sun descends again, it seems as if everyone in the city is taking a long deep breath; preparing for an onslaught of heat and misery. I also wait with bated breath, Oliver crouched on the floor beside me, both of us ready for the darkness.
And tomorrow, hell. Also, maybe no booze!