War is hell

When your enemy arms young children with grenades and instructs them to throw them at you, how do you do what you must without remorse?  Is there any solace in taking care of your fellow soldiers whom you must protect, who are counting on you doing your job to protect them from the enemy?  Or any in knowing that it is not you who have made that child a threat to which you have no choice but to respond?  And when, in your dreams, those children's faces become those of your own children, how do you battle the demons in your own mind?