... There’s sand streaming off it, and Staff Sergeant Brandon Espinosa, who’s on watch, bends down and hauls me up. He’s put up a canvas screen with the help of the two ANA who’re there with him. The guard tower sways like a ship in the storm. Espinosa looks exhausted, and I don’t blame him.He shouts: I’m going to send my ANA crew down and stay up here by myself. Less trouble that way.I lean toward him and shout back: Suit yourself. The relieved ANA slither down.I watch them go and shake my head: You’d think they weren’t in their own country.Espinosa says: They aren’t. They’re Uzbek. This is Pashtun land.I say: No point telling you to keep a look out, but still . . . He cracks a smile and shoves a wad of chew into his mouth. He’s a veteran of Iraq, a man of few words, capable, efficient. I’m not wor-ried about leaving him in the tower by himself.Back on the ground, I run with Whalen past the brick-and-mor-tar command post, then follow the Hescos back toward the ECP. We slow down by the shelter of the mortar pit where Manny Ramirez and Pratt have secured the gun with canvas. Pratt has his M-4 tucked Bhat_9780307955890_7p_01_r2.indd ... W A T C Hand bank away from the ground. The rising sun spools through the windows of the bird and slathers the valley red. It lights on the face of the man in the stretcher next to mine. It’s Mitchell.Someone sticks a needle into my arm. I swallow hard.I’m going home.Bhat_9780307955890_7p_01_r2.indd ... 37Whalen, who’s six four, picks up Fazal Ahmed and sets him down by the Hescos. Stay here! he roars.I drag the other two Afghans back. You’re not allowed to leave, I yell.Ya’ll understand? Whalen roars again, shouting above the wind.They don’t reply, but return to crouching sullenly by the Hescos.We leave them and canter over to the camo nets surrounding the guard tower. I clamber up the staircase, while Whalen stays behind. The raw wind buffets me as I ascend the rickety steps, and I have to grasp the guardrails with all my strength. Sand, stones, and clumps of dust whirl upward and hit me. A loose splinter ricochets off the back of my hand and leaves a bloody smear. Then the platform looms above ...