At this moment they are supremely vulnerable. The contrast between the brightness of the sunset and the dimness of the jungle renders them nearly blind. The shitter is helpless, and the smoker looks exhausted. Bobby Shaftoe sheds his sandals. He emerges from the jungle onto the road behind the truck, strides forward on ant-bitten feet, crouches behind the truck’s bumper. The weapon comes out of his hip pocket silently. Without taking his eyes off the smoker’s feet—visible beneath the truck’s chassis—he peels away the backing and slaps the payload onto the truck’s tailgate. Then, just to rub it in, he slaps up another one. Mission accomplished! Take that, Tojo!