They’re first night on the front line and they were sneaking up toward the enemy with our Type 56 Assault Rifles. Within minutes one of his trio stepped on a landmine—one minute he was there, the next, gone forever—away to try his key at the gate…and the fear was palpable then, soaking through their uniforms, and his hands were clammy and felt slippery on the trigger.
He wanted to go home. He hated war and was afraid, then his last friend fell—the other of his trio—he couldn’t look, couldn’t bare it. He just closed his eyes and kept marching…whispering in the blur of tears and violence, Allah Akbar…Allah Akbar…

But he didn’t feel God then, he was alone, and he hated God now—in the mass of confusion, spraying bullets, and wailing wounded men and boys marching. All he could think, over and over, was, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.