By John Ballard
This is relevant to Steve's earlier post.
The pistol felt good in my hand. I felt surprisingly deft with it. The selector switch had two painted dots, one red and one white. White is safe; red is not. With my thumb, I put the pistol back on safe white and laid it on the seat. While I talked to my wife for a few minutes, I stared out through the windshield and watched the sun setting over the rocky brown desert of Darfur.
"I�ll be careful; don�t worry. I�ll be home in a few weeks."
I started the truck�s engine and drove back to the United Nations guesthouse where I was staying, and returned the pistol to the peacekeeper sergeant I�d borrowed it from. We�d served together for five months. The sergeant had loaned me the pistol, no questions asked, because he knew me and because I was a senior officer with more than twenty years of field experience whom he believed to be competent and trustworthy. I�d given him no reason to think otherwise.
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