What happens when you're facing the person who pulled the trigger, pushed the button, relished in the moment after bombing? What happens when you see the expression on their face, one of joyous memory.
"The thing I miss most about being in the (U.S.) Army is the sky after a bombing. The color..."
and I finished,
"Yes, the color red. The way everything's in focus and there's dust in the air. And the light is red?"
I was thinking of times when I'd experienced bombings - like during the first Gulf War, or when I was in Lebanon when the U.S. was bombing back in 1998. The way the sky lit up a bright red from the dust. I was recollecting the fear, and the taste of fear: it's bitter, like sweat gone rancid. The smell of a bombing, too, is singed, bitter, like burnt coffee. But worse, cause it's followed by the taste of blood in your throat.
I looked up at her; she was reminiscing. A big smile on her face. The way the sky looks after a bombing. After she, or someone in her unit, had pushed a button, pulled a trigger. And I was not smiling, thinking of all the innocent people who'd been killed as she was coming out of the bunker, thankful to see the sky.
And there we were, facing each other.