One plane returned. Over a dozen had left—and one returned.

You stood in on the mandatory interrogation that was held to try and gather what had happened up in the air. Each man in front of you looked awful—having been exposed to the horrors of war once again. Your eyes landed on Rosie—a usually confident and bright young man, was just a shell of who he was mere hours ago. You frowned. Only eight men had returned. His eyes met yours again.