The metal is hot in his hands, conducting the heat from the scorching Afghan sun. The low grumble of the convoy behind is comforting as he carves the path forward on foot. His eyes are constantly scanning the ground, noticing every upturned rock and suspicious pothole. He swings the base of his metal detector over each point of interest, heart ticking in time with its regular bleeps. He almost wants to hear it wail, after all, he enjoys this. It gets his heart and his head going and the rush of adrenaline has become something he relishes. But for now the bleeps are steady and only the sun is making him sweat.