Sam stops in his tracks. He ceases all movement—forward, lateral, reverse, or otherwise. He becomes a statue in the middle of the jungle. Heart in mouth, he slowly lowers himself to the ground. Here’s the thing: Sam knows precisely how to traverse a live minefield. Problem is, he’s not in possession of any of the tools that will help him make it across without getting blown to bits, the least of which, is a bayonet. The sharp end of the bayonet would be used to probe the earth for anything hard, like the metal housing on a landmine.
He searches for a stick long enough and hard enough to penetrate the jungle floor. He’s surrounded by sticks and twigs of all sizes and lengths, but he sees one stick in particular out the corner of his eye. A stick that’s maybe a foot long and thin enough to
