But plans, as Hatch knew, were just optimistic lies written on whiteboards in air-conditioned rooms.
There was still a war to fight.
“Contact front!” screamed Private First Class Miller, the point man.
Miller tried to dive, but the grenade was a direct hit. The explosion was a fist of black smoke and red dust. When it cleared, Miller was gone. There was just a crater and a single, smoldering boot.
