Colonel Stephenson looked grimly down at the radar.
"15... 14... 13..." she said. You can guess what she said next because I'm sure you can count.
The helicopter landed on the island. The Colonel knew what she'd find. Sure enough the whirling blades of the helicopter caused sand to fly about, revealing two interlocked skeletons. She knew that the rest of her trip here would involve discovering nothing but body after body. She would say things like ,"Let's move, people. Come on, go, go, go!" in an upbeat voice.
16 years in the military had taught her that she must never let it show in her face. But she felt it. Each and every person that they failed to save - she felt it.
The people who'd died on this island would never know that the rest of the world would go on with their arguments with their boyfriends, their colonels in berets, their concrete houses, their tax forms, their onion rings at McDonald's, their ice cream sodas, their trips to the dentist and their newborn children - they would survive while life on this island had failed.