And there it would stay, a prize for their women, and for themselves, an idol. But soon the ibex disappeared, and then the gazelle. Now it was the lion's turn to hunt. It caught the giants and ate them one by one until none was left alive. Through the Firing Zone, I trail behind Iblis.
Smoke rises from the craters and curls around our legs.
Has No Name nips at my calves. Today is a good day, plenty of 155's and cluster bombs. Jets and artillery are as good as gold, Iblis says, but infantry is slim pickings. Worst, though, are the engineers. They leave Bangalore Torpedoes scattered over the sand, and beneath it, buried, their mines.