Tour of Duty

As the soldiers plod along the street in their heavy gear, the merciless sun beats down from the cloudless sky in an incessant assault of heat. The light reflects off of the barbed wire and chain link fences that surround the area where they walk, shining brightly into their eyes. In the overwhelming heat, every breath is labored, every step is a mile, and every second is a thousand years. The sun bakes their heads from above, and the hard packed dirt bakes their feet from below.
The fact that it is only hot is a blessing for these men. These are the men that run into gunfire and explosions to retrieve a wounded comrade, to drag him out of the hail of bullets and the thundering explosions, only to return to that once the wounded man is safe. These are the men that are just as mortal as your or I, just as vulnerable to a bullet as anyone, and yet they cast that aside to protect the innocent. Every day might be the day that an insurgent emerges from an alleyway with a gun and blows a hole in one of them. Every day might be the day that a land mine or roadside bomb blows one of them to smithereens. Any day could be the last for these heroes.
But these soldiers ignore all these facts, because it is their job to step into the path of danger to protect others. It is their job to stare Death in the eyes, and spit in his face, each and every day that they serve.