The nightmare arrived at nightfall, 30 bayonets in 30 iron helmets, silent mob of scared boy-soldiers pale and unnatural in the dim moonlight as they stalked through the vacant houses, sleeping mats still on the rush-strewn floor, kettles still hanging over extinguished fires, until one clumsy boot crunched the edge of an old man’s pallet.
With a warning shout, he startled and reached for his blade but they seized his arms first and finished him with two swift shots.
Crack of a match, flicker of light as his wife stumbled dazedly from dreams onto the angry tip of American steel.
The candle tumbled from her hand and crackled against the woven grass mat.
And the soldiers let it all burn.
