For the thousandth time, Nathan wondered why you didn’t need some kind of basic parenting skills certificate to have kids.

I’m a soldier,’ Nathan said. ‘We’re all soldiers, now. Soldiers don’t leave people behind.

You’ve enlarged your original mission parameters. That’s what happens in war.

I’m not convinced we can take them out from a distance, Nathan. That’s always been the American solution, by the way. Bigger guns. Nukes. Drone strikes.

We’re not very good at peace, not really. War is in our nature,’ he said.‘Men’s nature,’ she corrected.

Attractive, blonde, skinny, a little slutty, and… well, I kind of talked to her about you. She’s already keen. You should be able to slide straight into second base.’ Mags laughed again. Nathan didn’t. It had been a while. And then some. He glanced over to the wardrobe. Maybe the dark blue shirt.

Nathan ran a palm over his forehead. He was on a mission with Taliban terrorists. His old sarge would be puking in his grave. He’d always maintained that the enemy of your enemy was still your fucking enemy.

He knew what he was doing – justifying an atrocity. But in war, that’s what always happened. Your red lines – those you swore to defend at all costs when you signed up – shifted, until finally none worth fighting for remained. PTSD wasn’t just about what happened to you; it was about what you did.

Nathan had to admit it was a highly effective war strategy. You didn’t need an army; just a way to turn the native, indigenous creatures against each other, wait until there was no serious resistance, and then move right in.