As the bomb squad arrived and began setting up floodlights, Walter backed into his house. Through the curtains, he watched them sweep the pit with detectors, their movements slow and deliberate. Radios crackled. Someone shouted the words unexploded ordnance. Walter’s knees nearly gave. He sank into a chair, staring at his hands, whispering, “It can’t be me. It can’t.”
By the next morning, the valley had transformed. Trucks lined the dirt road, and a small army of officials moved methodically through the dig site. The bomb squad worked in silence, lifting soil in thin layers, scanning every inch. They uncovered more metal fragments and then, something heavier. A corroded ammunition box.