Imagine you're a sniper on a remote hill in Hellmand province in Afghanistan. The Taliban have been hassling you for days -- no sleep, daytime firefights, you lost Gomez a week back, Petrie has no leg and is in some hospital back "there" . . . and you've been sitting there all day with your scope and your spotter.
And all of a sudden, Mullah Omar appears (they're all Mullah Omar.") You get a bead on his fuzzy head -- the black framing beard is a great target, and you thrill. You pull the trigger and one second later his face disappears -- there's no black, just red. You do a massive high-five with your spotter.
Flash forward six months later. You're long out of the army. You're sitting at a street cafe just having had dinner and are just hanging with your friends. None of them has ever been in the military, but they all knew you were in Afghanistan.
Then, after three Irish coffees and half a liter of white wine, the question comes.
"So what was it like? You kill anyone, dude?"
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