The kill team- members of the 5th Stryker Brigade
The kill team- members of the 5 th Stryker Brigade You are barely fifteen when your home becomes a hunting ground, For the creatures inside the Kevlar coffin. Staring out of an armoured machine, bodies half-hidden like a mongoose, coloured only by their Hazel uniform and jet-black riffles. Several handfuls of candy are thrown from the vehicle: Airheads, Hershey’s, M&M’s. Like confetti or locusts cutting through the Afghanistan sky, sending clouds of dust to rise from the ground. Warm, sticky breath fills the air as they take aim. And children come running, as children do, with arms outstretched and smiles as deep, wide and colossal as the valleys of Grand Canyon or the Band-e Amir. Yet, whenever their small hands grab at the treats resting in the sand, as children do, small bodies drop and their mothers can only watch. You do not know of this, of course, you are work...