While in Hawaii, when an old friend was visiting, we went for a mile or so walk across an old lava field so the friend could experience getting next to the lava flow that at the time was pouring down the side of the volcano, streaming across the lava field and pouring into the Pacific, where huge sulfur dioxide loaded plumes rose from the meeting of fresh magma and ocean water, forming phantismic shapes in the air that tourist helecopters buzzed around, and what is called lava bombs (chunks of magma) exploded when coming in contact with the ocean. As we walked across the very unforgiving uneven terrain of the lava field, a young (compared to me) man joined our on-foot caravan (footavan?) and we chatted, as people on a common mission often do, as we gingerly stepped our way over a mile or so of gnarly razor edged bits of old lava. Turned out the young man was on leave from the Middle East and his job was operating drones. He said it was done out in "enemy" territory from bunkers far away from the home base, bunkers in which all the necessary high tech equipment for the job and the operator were guarded by a team of highly trained team of special forces troops. His voice was a little edgy, something I recognized as PTSD that he was as of yet not aware of, imagining the lack of face to face combat meant he was not likely to get PTSD. If only! I have no idea how many drones were under his control when in the field. Didn't think to ask. I just tried to reach through the PTSD wall I could feel, to make a connect and seed peace in his soul, with down to earth day to day conversation. Unfortunately I don't think I succeeded at that.