Jamal lies on his back and slowly flaps his arms up and down in the feathery soft dust. This dust is part of a wide, barren plain that alternates between red sand and packed brown dust depending on how far one strays from the tents that make up his Bedouin family’s home. When he rolls over, he takes pleasure in seeing the shape of an eagle, imprinted in the dust. He is slight, with a bare chest, impervious to burn, fully exposed to the brilliant sun overhead. Again, he mindlessly fingers the velvet earth beneath his hands, sensing the onset of the midday winds that will blow sand and dust into any exposed eyes, noses and mouths. At that point, only then, Jamal will seek cover from the desert elements. From the corner of his eye, he sees his family’s beige tents, hears the soft drone of flies overhead.

His father and uncles -- the men of his tribe -- are huddled inside the nearest tent, murmuring as they have done all day. Jamal has always been intrigued by secrets; but these are the secrets of his elders. They are dangerous. Jamal knows these secrets lead to decisions that send young men off to distant countries. He knows the secrets have to do with “holy war,” “spiritual struggle,” and “resistance, and “martyrdom.” During these meetings of his elders, Jamal is excluded from his own home.  This day, the elders had arrived at dawn, coasting into camp in three battered jeeps, with guns from an old war stacked on back in makeshift rusting racks. They wear full white robes and brightly colored kufiya around their heads, signifying both their clan and the responsibilities of manhood. These colorful head cloths provide a practical purpose too. They protect the men from cold, heat, wind, sand and dust.  Though he cannot say why, Jamal feels vaguely uneasy when he thinks of the men inside whispering.

From the other eye, Jamal spies the modest black of the women's robes and burqas.  The only splashes of color are the multi-colored decorations on their chests. The women carry babies on their backs and canteens of water on their heads, as they stroll back from the creek. His mother, toting Jamal’s baby sister, laughs contagiously at her sister’s unheard joke. His love for his mama wells up inside of him, a warmth equal to the blazing sun, a clarity like the endless sky overhead. Mama sees him through the rising heat, and waves. He imagines her black eyes sparkling in the sun with her smile, can almost hear the gurgling of his baby sister.  The sky is a blue ocean that casts its shadows across the arid desert plateau.

*****

A world away, in a geometrically-shaped building of stone, Liam huddles over the brightly lit consoles. The voices of others around begin shift to an indistinct drone, as he fits his headphones over his ears. His world becomes silent -- a place where he can operate without feeling, where he is desensitized. The sea of gray and green uniforms blur in his mind, as do the fluorescent lights. He relishes this chance to immerse himself into his job. He takes comfort that soon he will have forgotten whether it is day or night. He will have no sense of weather. He is intensely focused on the task at hand, able to block out any and all distractions.

Fixated, Liam grasps the joystick, testing its mobility, observing where the camera’s eye points. A voice in his headphones advises Liam that he will be taking the master controls, stepping in for someone in a distant room, an unseen colleague. His console shows him eight screen shots of the earth, multiple perspectives of the same geographic location. The rapidly shifting colors of oceans, mountains, forests and now the desert, all provide a colorful series of images under the cross-hairs. He quickly notes the coordinates he needs.  What is down there? Liam notes the reddish-brown earth, with a low wind reading. However, if that wind is given much more time to accelerate, precision-targeting could be more difficult. This location is little more than a flesh colored scar on the earth. This place that might once have flowed with streams now appears desolate except for a grouping of flesh-colored tents, barely distinguishable against their parched backdrop. It is some God-forsaken desert filled with nothing but deadly adversaries. Easing up the stick-pressure, he rotates, positions, re-positions and zooms in for a first lock. He is able to ignore stiff joints in his body. He can almost feel the heat rising from the computer screen. Liam’s eyes burn. He must remain locked on the target until final checks and approvals can be transmitted. His primary mission now is to watch for changes below the eye of the camera.

*****

A tall, scarred and drooling dog approaches. Jamal rolls to one side in order to scratch soft ears, battered from the harsh conditions of life in the desert.  To his elders, this nameless dog is an after-thought, something to feed, but only if the family has found dinner that day. To Jamal, the dog is a companion and partner in adventure. Together they explore rocky outcroppings and scrubby green patches, in search of small desert animals and shiny stones. The dog lies down by Jamal, content to be near his friend. Jamal’s mama and aunties have taken position not far from the men’s tent, tending to the fire. His family’s goats and a group of scrubby chickens move closer to the fire, oblivious to any dangers, thinking only of scraps. Dinner preparations are beginning, after hours hunting fire wood, grinding meal and gathering strips of cured meat, dates and other precious seasonings from the larder. The smell of bread wafts toward him. Jamal’s mouth waters slightly as he begins to imagine the delicacies that might appear on his dinner plate, once the men have finished their talks and the wind sends everyone in search of shelter and a good meal. Sparks fly from the flames, wanting to prosper on their own.

*****

Back in the office, Liam remains in “cutscene” – nothing to do but watch and wait for the storyline to unfold. Having transmitted conditions below to his superiors, Liam now waits only for verification of the target, and final approval to strike. He is a predator, fully in control of the game, which is stacked in his favor. While locked on the target, Liam glances up at the grey walls, stares at grisly photos – images of powdery white dust, shredded fabric, panic, flames, smoke, ash and blood. His eyes moving back to the console, Liam can’t help but grab the joystick a little harder than is required. He remembers that day, still able to smell both chemicals and fear in the air. Liam is unable and unwilling to forget. 

*****

The men are finished. Their secrets have all been told, but not shared. It is midday. The men wander slowly out of the tent, pausing at the entrance to stretch, and enjoy the sights and smells of a crackling fire, savory food and juices being prepared just a few yards away. While not especially close to them, Jamal knows these men are his future. They provide for him, as well as for his beloved mother and aunties. They protect him. He must respect them, although he has not yet learned how to love them. Jamal watches, drowsily combing his fingers through the copper-colored earth. His fingers press beneath the coating of sand and dust and discover a crack in the ground. He studies its path from the creek and gently pulls to separate the clod from the backed earth surrounding it. The dust crumbles in his fingers. His dog licks his cheek. Jamal giggles and rolls back to stare at the crystal sky. The afternoon winds will start soon, forcing his family to shelter and food. But for now, Jamal is safe, in his comfort zone. Life is good.

*****

Liam leans into the console, placing steady pressure on the action command, locking and re-locking on his enemy’s position, watching for any signs that the targets may be in transit. Liam has the first-person advantage in this game. The camera he controls is precise. He can see the most miniscule movements of the enemy, with computerized eyes sharper than an eagle’s. Liam has been at the screen for hours, yet is prepared to continue the grind, patiently repeating the moves necessary to gain an advantage. He knows the go-command is close.

Amidst static in the headphones, Liam finally hears the orders to: fire; kill; destroy. He has been given only 10 seconds to adjust and re-lock if needed. With the confidence of experience, Liam releases his breath to stabilize his body, ready for the final master strokes. Winning is everything; and he’s about to claim victory for his side. 

With a sixth-sense, Liam suddenly knows something is awry. The glitch appears at the outermost edge of the cross-hair symbol on his screen, not in the center of the kill-zone yet within the range of destruction. With the super-human powers of the robotic eye, Liam zeroes in on a lone child and dog, positioned not far from a smudge of smoke that signifies a campfire, women, animals, and more children -- “collateral damage,” as it has come to be known. 

Fortunately, Liam has been trained not to think. With a quick combo move Liam executes the order and the home screen flashes bright. Liam breathes and waits. He does not allow himself to reflect on that earlier vision. “We will never forget.” Red and orange blend with tears. Nothing is down there but the enemy, nothing at all that matters now. “Leave nothing behind -- nothing but dust. “

*****

At camp, the old dog looks overhead, howls, and then whimpers. Before he can follow the dog’s gaze with his own, Jamal feels an ominous dimming of the sun. A shrieking shadow races overhead, momentarily blocking his warmth. Jamal cringes reflexively. His final view is his adored mama and baby sister, rocking by the fire. He has no time for last thoughts.

*****

On his screen -- crisp and clear moments ago -- Liam now sees an expanding brownish smudge. He knows from experience this residual dust is all that remains and means a “win.” This dust cloud will endure for hours, if not days. Beneath it, all life has been blanketed, smothered – a stagnant area of attack, enormous in its breadth of destruction. They call these targeted kills, yet if anyone survived, it would be a miracle. Collateral damage is not the point. “Clean” warfare is the point. One click and they are vanished from this round, leaving his country safer as a result. Liam swivels in his chair to high-five his buddies, who have entered the room clapping and back-slapping at their joint success. Salutes and laughter all around. We Will Never Forget.