Shira stared at one patch of ground without realizing why. She focused her eyes and saw red, a red scrap, an armband. A military armband. And it had a number on it, and the number was the one Kyle always boasted about in Barrack Four.

"Someday, they'll be telling stories about platoon number nine, soldier two-oh-seven, whose name was Kyle and who kicked enemy ass like no one had ever seen before. You'll see."

Shira picked up the scrap of soaking cloth.

He was here. Where is he now?