He was still dreamily considering this, and other girls he’d known, when the front scout shouted a warning. Lifeng immediately flung herself against a tree, fading into its outline, only her rifle sticking out. Xiongmin was slower, uncertain which direction the danger was coming from. Everyone else seemed instinctively to know where to go, and someone pulled him urgently into a crouch. A half second of absolute stillness, and then he could see it: a Thai soldier in the uniform of the Royal Army, straightening up, eyes thin and alert, arm halfway to his holster.

At a shouted command, they fired. Xiongmin was closest, and managed to graze his arm, leaving a trail of blood through his shredded sleeve. The other shots went wide, thudding against the trees. He tried again, but nothing happened. His rifle was jammed. Screaming in frustration, he pumped the chamber frantically as the Thai man cocked his pistol, which was pointed right at him. Was this death? He felt very calm, dropping the rifle and reaching for his knife, but before he could even get it out a bullet had torn through the soldier’s neck. He gasped, eyes bulging, like someone choking in a cartoon. Blood rushed from the torn artery, much more than you’d have thought possible.

Lifeng took a step forward, looking stunned. She’d fired the fatal shot. The entire episode had taken no time at all, and she probably hadn’t even consciously decided what to do—their training was good enough for instinct to take over at moments like this. All she’d seen was a comrade in danger. Just like that, she was a killer.

Xiongmin thanked her brusquely—no time for more. One soldier meant the possibility of a battalion nearby. They’d have to abandon the hunt. Quickly, they searched the dead soldier. Food, water, a map and the pistol. Not a bad haul.

They started to move again, but Lifeng’s legs suddenly went soft and she slumped, unable to walk. The others screamed at her to stop this nonsense, there was no time. Her eyes were blank, and Xiongmin understood. She was trapped in that single moment, when her body had assumed the position it had been taught in a thousand drills, and a spiderweb of red had spread across the enemy’s throat before exploding horribly.

He took her shoulders. “You had to,” he said. “If the Thais left us alone, we wouldn’t bother them. This jungle is our home. If people come into our home, we have to defend ourselves.” Plain words, he sensed, would be more use here than any number of revolutionary slogans.

“We could have taken him prisoner,” she whispered. “What if he has a family? We could have kept him alive.”