Brutal Mercy

The dog's howls echo the mechanical whine of the sirens blaring from the speakers. The sounds undulate, rising and falling like the jungle-draped topography around us.

The airfield we stand on is a swath of ochre in a sea of riotous green—the sky above a cerulean dome hazed in tremulous clouds. Sunlight beats through them, baking the dirt, mixing with the moisture of the jungle and wrapping itself around us in a heavy, sweaty embrace. My arms tighten around my son.

Frank presses his snout to ...