Read pat 4 HERE.
War is hell. At least in hell you can warm yourself by the fire while you get prodded by pitchforks.
Afghanistan, January 2012. It was about 2AM and Patrick and I were in the middle of an endless ocean of snow, sitting atop an Afghani roof, pulling security into what may as well have been a blizzard. We would later discover that, with wind chill, it was -35. Every time I blinked, I could feel my eyelashes momentarily freeze shut. It took little effort to open them again, but the fact that it took any effort at all was troubling.
“Luke. Tell me something: everyone came from Africa way back when, right?”