One by one, the regiments marched from Afghanistan until only the Royal Malverns remained in Kandahar, and eventually, they also left. Jack stood at the citadel’s gate, listening to the men as they passed.
“Why are we leaving?” Private Hanley was twenty years old, with a sunburned face and broad shoulders. “We beat them, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we beat them,” Private Brotheridge spoke with the authority of a man two years older.
“Bobs beat them at Kandahar and Kabul and Peiwar Kotal and other places.”
“Yes, he did.” Brotheridge shifted his Martini to a more comfortable place against his shoulder.
“So why are we leaving?’ Hanley persisted.
“The politicians say so.”
“Why? We won, didn’t we?” Hanley looked over his shoulder at the frowning walls of Kandahar. “We beat them hollow.”
“I dunno
