They were soldiers, far from home, and shadowed by the presence of death; the deaths of others; of their own. They were youths, proud and strong, some of them cruel, many of them scared—of course they drank themselves under the table; of course they broke windows and smashed bottles and seemed always ready to beat someone into the ground. They were bottomless, drinking all the wine in the compound, grabbing at any body that might come near, farmer or not, their hunger rare and frightening.
