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As we attempted to cross it, we were ambushed from both sides in a barrage of automatic gunfire, grenades and mortars.
We crashed to the earth as the gunfire grew heavier, now coming from behind as well.
We slept in different places each night: in open fields or houses taken by force.
Our sentry had spotted the enemy soldiers beyond a distant line of trees to the south, and Muralie, our unit's second in command, decided that we should flee north across an arterial road.
There was no cover other than a few palmyra and banana trees that dotted the landscape.
Lying on my stomach, I shuffled forward, following another girl, Ajanthi.
My heart was pounding and thick smoke stung my eyes.
At dawn that day, Indian soldiers had surrounded our hideout, an abandoned house in Urumpiraay, a village in Sri Lanka's far north.
As the war had intensified, our units were being squeezed out of Jaffna peninsula.
One was on her back, screaming, 'My leg, someone help me!