We're in green uniforms, although you've lost your rifle. Someone hands you a new one, just in time. Outside the bombed-brick buildings insurgents in black headdresses are massing. When they attack they don't aim, they wave their automatic rifles from side to side spraying lead as if from garden hoses, hoping through sheer mass to hit something vulnerable. You'd aim but your scrounged rifle has no laser pointer; and the enemy are wearing body armor. You look down the barrel, aiming for the knees. One, two three: you drop them in quick succession.
