We are again at war with another unseen enemy
February 24, 1991, and I wait. I wait on the edge of my cot under the pitched canopy of my far-away canvas home; its sides pulsating from the ever-present wind; sand somehow traversing the walls, everything inside airbrushed a pastel tan; outside the surrounding Saudi Arabian desert limitless in all directions. The winds of war have been blowing, and the time has come. There are 10 of us inside the …
We are again at war with another unseen enemy




















