We have our orders. As we delve further into enemy territory, my men begin exhibiting alarming symptoms: starvation, illness, insanity. We lost contact with out network. On the radio, we hear occasional laughter and praying, but nothing else. All we've seen for days are flames. At this point, my men confirm that we all hear the voices, urging us to do unspeakable things, to turn against each other. Yesterday, we started seeing dead people out there in the smoke. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the Dickens kid, halfway across the globe, walking alongside our MRAP, looking directly at me. His jaw hanging from a side, his loose tongue incessantly moving just like the last time I saw him. We really should never have invaded this land.