I never thought I'd be here, and yet… I am.

The world will never forgive me.

The desert is dry, arid, with a hint of menace traveling through the air, lightly attacking all my senses. It leaves behind a vaguely desperate sense of panic.

I stand, my feet planted firmly apart, my AK-47 in my hands, scanning the horizon. Hoping against all hopes that this will not turn out to be a complete farce.

My people depend on me. I can feel them, cheering me on back home. Their faith in my mission and its necessity is the only thing keeping me from turning around and going back to my country.

I do not belong here.

I reached up and tentatively touched my right cheek; it was still bandaged, the skin underneath ravaged. My entire body was still healing from that unspeakable day.

I was well, although my heart still jumped erratically at the most inopportune times. The rage of my people and the cluelessness of my bosses mixed together to form a lethal cocktail, and me being in this far away desert was the resulting hangover.

Something stung my legs, and I jumped. I looked down, and saw a miniscule hole in my pants leg. It was dark… and then I felt the small metal bullet, nestled in my leg.

I blinked, looked around me, and understood.

I was in a minefield.

As far as my eye could see, there were small black metal domes, silently mocking me. I looked between my legs, at the desert floor – even there, a mine stared back at me, daring to step on it.

For a moment, my dangerous bravado overtook me. "It's just a mine," I scoffed at scared-me. "A mine can't kill a nation."

"It can't," scared-me whispered back, "but it can weaken me."

"Nothing weakens me, I'm the hero!" I declared, and stepped on the mine.

Immediately, I was thrown back. An explosion shook the desert, and I was temporarily blinded by a wave of sand. When the swirling particles settled, I could see a small black plaque where the mine used to be.

Therrel Shane Childers

Aged 30

Fell 21.03.2003

My heart skipped, this time with fear. I looked around me again, and suddenly, the realization hit me.

Every mine, was a soldier. Every time I stepped on one, a man died.

In order to survive, I had to move.

And there was no moving without stepping on a mine.

I began running blindly, ignoring the blasts behind me. When I thought I had to, I turned and ran left or right. I could no longer see where I was going; the sand had risen and formed an obstructive cloud. I had no sense of direction.

The only thing that I could feel was the tears streaming into my hair, from the force of the wind. That, and the stinging of my injuries from the year before. The sand had made it past the bandages and reached my open wounds, infecting them.

One word reverberated in my head, pushing me forwards.

Revenge.

A/N: In memoriam of all the brave men who fell in Iraq, for their country and the world. May their memories live on forever, and may they rest in peace.