"There was a local Afghan boy, about twelve, who loved the Marines and would always salute us when we would walk out of our patrol base on foot. He and his eight-year-old brother even made a game of trying to snatch water bottles and goodies from the "dump pouches" on the back of our SAPI (small arms protective insert) plates, which were designed to carry empty magazines from firefights but doubled as snack, candy, and water bottle carriers. The two boys got to be friends with us, and through months of talking and playing with us would sometimes tell us where well-hidden IEDs were buried. Our EOD (explosive ordinance disposal) guys made a good show of trying to make it appear that their discoveries were accidental before the explosives were defused, but in Taliban strongholds, eyes are always watching. One night, about two weeks after I was evacuated, a grenade was thrown over the wall of our compound and detonated at exactly the spot where my now-empty bunk sat. No one was injured, but it obviously shook everyone up a bit. A few nights later, that same boy who used to salute us showed up at our patrol base in the middle of the night to tell us he threw that grenade. He was sobbing and begging the Marines to forgive him and not to kill him. The Taliban had caught on that he was friendly with us and that fewer IEDs were being detonated. They suspected he was the cause, so they beat him senseless- but they didn't kill him. Instead, for his final punishment, they dragged him to the wall of our compound, placed a grenade in his hand, and pulled the pin. A twelve-year-old child was forced to kill or be killed. That was just one story of countless others we heard- stories of violence, ritual stoning of women, pushing people off buildings for being gay. And children forced to become weapons of war."