... There’s sand streaming off it, and Staff Sergeant Brandon Espinosa, who’s on watch, bends down and hauls me up. He’s put up a canvas screen with the help of the two ANA who’re there with him. The guard tower sways like a ship in the storm. Espinosa looks exhausted, and I don’t blame him.He shouts: I’m going to send my ANA crew down and stay up here by myself. Less trouble that way.I lean toward him and shout back: Suit yourself.The relieved ANA slither down.I watch them go and shake my head: You’d think they weren’t in their own country.Espinosa says: They aren’t. They’re Uzbek. This is Pashtun land.I say: No point telling you to keep a look out, but still . . . He cracks a smile and shoves a wad of chew into his mouth. He’s a veteran of Iraq, a man of few words, capable, efficient. I’m not wor-ried about leaving him in the tower by himself.Back on the ground, I run with Whalen past the brick-and-mor-tar command post, then follow the Hescos back toward the ECP. We slow down by the shelter of the mortar pit where Manny Ramirez and Pratt have secured the gun with canvas. Pratt has his M-4 tucked Bhat_9780307955890_7p_01_r2.indd ... PMThis book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2012 by Joydeep Roy-BhattacharyaAll rights reserved. Published in the United States by Hogarth, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. www.crownpublishing.comHogarth is a trademark of the Random HouseGroup Limited, and the H colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.Permission credits appear on page 288.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataRoy-Bhattacharya, Joydeep.The watch : a novel / Joydeep Roy-Bhattacharya.—1st ed.p. ... There’s sand streaming off it, and Staff Sergeant Brandon Espinosa, who’s on watch, bends down and hauls me up. He’s put up a canvas screen with the help of the two ANA who’re there with him. The guard tower sways like a ship in the storm. Espinosa looks exhausted, and I don’t blame him.He shouts: I’m going to send my ANA crew down and stay up here by myself. Less trouble that way.I lean toward him and shout back: Suit yourself.The relieved ANA slither down.I watch them go and shake my head: You’d think they weren’t in their own country.Espinosa says: They aren’t. They’re Uzbek. This is Pashtun land.I say: No point telling you to keep a look out, but still . . . He cracks a smile and shoves a wad of chew into his mouth. He’s a veteran of Iraq, a man of few words, capable, efficient. I’m not wor-ried about leaving him in the tower by himself.Back on the ground, I run with Whalen past the brick-and-mor-tar command post, then follow the Hescos back toward the ECP. We slow down by the shelter of the mortar pit where Manny Ramirez and Pratt have secured the gun with canvas. Pratt has his M-4 tucked Bhat_9780307955890_7p_01_r2.indd...