"If I don't go in, they'll have won. How many times have we heard that American soldiers rely on firepower and technology because they lack courage? How many times has our enemy said that man-for-man, they can beat us? That's nothing new. The Germans and Japanese said the same thing in World War II. Inside that house, I surrendered my honor and mny manhood. Now I have to take both back, or live with the fact that they are right about me. That is unacceptable. I rant and swear with abandon. Down the street, I see Sergeant Knapp taking care of my men like they are his little brothers. I want to cry I am so proud. I love these kids in a way I will never be able to express. I see their faces. One by one. John Ruiz, Lucas Abernathy, Piotr Sucholas, Alex Stuckert, Victor Santos, Brett Pulley, Tristan Maxfield- they deserve more from me. I stop pacing and let out a deep, rattling sigh. Only Ware remains near me on the street. Everyone else has moved away. Perhaps my display has convinced them I've gone mad. But Ware is still here. The journalist. Our platoon's unofficial intel officer. We stare intently at each other. "Fuck it," I say. "Fuck it," agrees Ware. That settles it. I'm going back in."