“Remember,” the sarge said, “I don’t want nobody going in there shootin’ up the place an’ all when we gotta fire plan.”

The men (no women in the outfit) locked and loaded.

Stennis was on point, carrying the SAW . The sarge, M-16 and hand grenades at the ready, was second. Us followed.

The interior of the dark smelly building seemed to go forever.

A deafening crash suddenly erupted.

Stennis had opened up with the SAW and the rest of us fired in the direction his tracers were marking. There was chaos, smoke, and bullets.

“Cease fire, cease fire, motherfuck!” Robles was screaming.

In a moment there was silence and we were all left looking at the bodies of two young kids on the floor.

“It was fuckin’ firecrackers,” Robles breathlessly grunted looking down at the kids, blood smearing their faces, and empty crates marked FIRECRACKERS with big stenciled letters.

“Congratulations, lads,” Scottie spitted. “We’ve got ourselves two firecracker operatives under 16. Way to go … and I’ll write the dispatches.”