During that time, my hands alternated between typing and jotting notes with my pencil. My eyes traveled between the computer monitor in front of me an... the notebook on the desk below. I was exhausted from the hours of work I had sunk into my masters thesis.The passage of time seemed to have no meaning in the archives. There's no clock upon the wall, there's no window for a person to see the position of the sun in the sky, just row after row of document shelving, and obnoxious track lighting. It did have some bad points, like when we had to hump the heavy damn thing around by sheer manpower. Otherwise, it's not so bad. We're part of an M252 81mm mortar platoon operating out of a part of Afghanistan you never heard of, and I'm beginning to wish that I hadn't heard of it, either.In this case, we were detached from the rest of the platoon to provide support for a special forces bunch who were going after some Al Qaeda goons holed up in a series of ravines and caves. We couldn't do much. More

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