A corporal pressed against the building, waiting for the signal to move. The US Army had the Iraqi city Fallujah surrounded as planned. But that meant some 3,000 to 4,000 enemy fighters were trapped inside the city. The US Marine Corps had swept through the city before, but the enemy had returned stronger than ever. Enemy soldiers could be hiding in any business or home. It was the marine's job to help their allies, the Iraqi forces, take back the city. The corporal and a private had just darted through a rain of fire in a courtyard. Now the corporal was trying to steady his breathing. He hoped the enemy couldn't see them now---that they weren't in some insurgent's sights. He glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. It looked like someone from the team was missing. Where was the lance corporal? Hadn't he made it through the courtyard? They needed to move forward. Maybe the lance corporal was holed up in another doorway. He'd race in to support them from another angle. The lance corporal had that way of popping up where people least expected---and most needed---him. The corporal stepped toward the door and gave it a hard kick. He walked into the empty room, his weapon ready, the private by his side. The corporal scanned the room as the private crept toward an adjoining room. The corporal darted toward the stairs. It seemed eerily quiet. Suddenly shots rang out. The corporal spotted two insurgents behind an overturned couch in another room. He returned fire until theirs stopped and the enemies lay motionlessly, blood from their wounds pooling on the floor around them. The corporal shouted, ducking as a spray of bullets came from upstairs. When it stopped, the corporal took to the stairs, the private at his heels. The insurgents scattered into the several upstairs rooms as the marines returned fire. the private disappeared to his right, following them. The corporal took the room ahead. He spotted several propane tanks and plastic explosives. If he fired now, they'd all be blown to the sky, he realized.