That day had been a blank since the British supply truck exploded and hell became real. Phil turned into a red mist. He had been standing in front of...me and just dissolved in front of me. He was just gone in a second. That image I had never admitted seeing especially to myself.Why after all the years had I remembered how I felt that day? That was also one of the questions that needed to be answered. Something had caused me to remember. They were not real memories just images. Like images. They maintained a respectful distance; many of them cried as well, though most were simply solemn and silent as the occasion demanded.Near to them, in a huddled mass, were all that remained of the two thousand slave girls rescued from Ninev. They clung to one another in their grief, barely able to stand. Most turned their heads away, not bearing to watch. They wore the white of mourning as well, but they also bore some new crest, a symbol in black which had not been seen before, on bands tied. More

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