He quickened his pace as voices sounded from the road. More soldiers, he thought, searching for anyone trying to ford the river. He was nearing the waterway, the reeds thick, and matted together like a closely woven hedge. He pushed through one last thicket, expecting to see the waterway. Instead he came face to face with a startled enemy soldier.

Sweet reacted without conscious thought. He moved in, his bayonet whispering free of its sheath. He clamped his hand over the man's mouth, and plunged the blade into his sternum, once, twice, three times. The Iraqi struggled, thrashing fingers prying at Sweet's arms, his face, clawing desperately. Seconds passed, and Sweet felt his struggles lessen. He pulled the knife free and lowered the body to the ground. There was no time for anything fancy, he thought. Sweet dragged the body to the river, and rolled it into the dark, murky water.

More voices came from the left. He eased out of the reeds and continued on his way. A series of gray concrete buildings were now visible in the near distance.

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