There is a war going on between the Americans and what appear to be either Germans or Russians. The battleground resembles the trench warfare of World War I. The land between the two sides reminds me of the no-man's-land of LZ Ranch in Cambodia. Each side is firing artillery, adjusting for accuracy. The shells fly back and forth and fall with muffled dull thuds. Then the other side launches a ground attack. They throw hand grenades as they run. The grenades hit the ground and bounce forward. I catch one and hurl it back. Then another, then two more. The others (other side?) do the same. I am in hand to hand combat with a man of about fifty; he is fat and ruddy looking. With a sinister leer he taunts me. Twisting his knife through the air he is easily the more skillful. I am lightly scarred several times but somehow, as my knife becomes a fork, I spear him in the throat, causing him a mortal wound. His eyes bulge forward; the gushing blood mixes with his last gurgling breath.