Non-fiction

How a Maoist Is Made

The strike came without warning, early in the new day, when the policemen were off guard in their trucks and on the way to their camp after a hard night’s work. First came the twin explosions, then the loud, irregular rattle of small-arms fire, the stench of burning flesh and rubber and diesel, and piteous calls for help from those in pain. Vastly outnumbered and outgunned, the police fought back as best they could, but more than seventy of them died that morning.

 


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