8
PointIsn't there something about pride on all the recruiting posters? Or is that the Marines? Well, maybe the Marines would look proud now somehow, but our squad doesn't, walking to our section of the hill. Pops can barely drag himself along ahead of me, his ruck hung on one shoulder, his rifle skimming along the mud, held by his b****y hand. Me, I feel like I weigh more than I should. My legs are rubbery; it's hard to breathe. A medium rain is falling, and it is cold. Everywhere is red mud and puddles of ugly water. Anything that can glisten glistens—the wet side of the pile of ammo boxes, that part of our metal equipment that isn't covered by mud, Pops’ neck.
Nothing has changed since we left. Our holes are still only knee-deep, and there are still bundles of empty sandbags tied toge
