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Page 35
by Steven Tandberg
“Maybe this will jog your memory.” Col. Stevens tossed me an M4 carbine. Reflexively, I checked the magazine, chamber, and safety. The gun felt comfortable in my hands as if I had held it for many years.
“Let’s finish this coup.” He slapped me on the back and stood. “Just watch your angles, soldier.”
A tinge of inexplicable hate struck my heart.