By early March the desert sandstorms known as “shamals” have begun. Shamal winds gust at up to fifty miles an hour, sometimes blowing over the twenty-meter-long platoon tents Marines sleep in, shredding apart the canvas and burying them in several feet of sand. It’s no wonder the chickens couldn’t hack it. The Marines who’ve been here for weeks have runny noses and inflamed eyes from the constant dust. A lot of them walk around with rags wrapped around their faces to keep the dust out, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. Several develop walking pneumonia even before the invasion begins.
