Man, some of these stories are so messed up, no wonder why troops came home with PTSD. Below, I'm gonna retype four of the more powerful excerpts from a book.
The boy couldn't have been more than 10 years old, the kind of kid who would have been sitting down by a stream, dangling his feet in the water, holding the end of a fishing line, enjoying a lazy summer day--if he hadn't stepped on the land mine. When his mother carried him onto the compound, there were two bloody stumps where his legs had been.
. . . He was only eighteen years old. I put his hand in mine. "I'm a nurse," I said. "You are in an American hospital. We're going to make you as comfortable as possible." It was what we said to all the ones we classified as expectants, those we expected to die. It was simply a matter of time.
They wheeled her in on a gurney. She'd already gone into labor. With the bullet would in her belly, a normal childbirth would have been out of the question. So we cut into her, and found a perfectly formed live baby boy. He had a gunshot wound in his belly. . . .
Question: What kind of people--men, women, and children?
Answer: And babies. And so we started shooting them and somebody told us to switch off to single shot to that we could save ammo. So we switched off to single shot and shot a few more rounds. And after that, I just--we just-- the company started gathering up [people] again.
You read them or you don't.