"Nate, hit the deck!" I shove him to the ground and crouch above him as bullets fly over our head.

Nate pushes me away and scoots against the crate. "Sully, I had that!" he shouts over the prattle of gunfire.

"No, you would have had a hole in your head." Nate opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "Don't argue with me! Stay here. I'm moving up."

"I can help if you let me go with you."

"No, you'll be safer here."

"We'll both be safer if we have each other's backs."

"Kid, shut up and stay here. If you're so adamant about having my back, lay down some cover fire. Do whatever the hell you want as long as you stay behind this crate."

I wait for a break in the fighting, then I run to the concrete pillar to my right. Bullets chip away at the pillar a little too close for comfort, so I move forward again. I whip my pistol over the top of the crate and shoot a guard twice in the chest. His buddy swings his AK in my direction and open fires a second after I reenter cover. Nate lets off a few rounds to draw the guard's attention, then I bring my arm up and catch him in the shoulder, throwing off his aim. Nate grunts as the bullets get close to his head. I take the time to line up my next shot. I duck down as the bullet punctures his skull. I don't like to watch that part.

There's one guard left. I look back to check on Nate, but he's crouched behind cover. I turn my concentration to the far wall. He pokes his head around the corner, revealing his position. I keep low as I move up. I glance over at Nate again, but he still hasn't popped his head over the crate. Gunfire fills the air from the guard's direction. He has no idea where I am and nerves must be kicking in. Two against one are not good odds. I hear the sounds of a clip scraping against metal and take the opportunity to aim at the guard's cover. My bullet hits him in the neck when he pops his head up. He had no idea what hit him. I hear gasping and coughing, assuming it to be the guard, but I soon realize it's coming from behind me.

Nate.

I run over to his crate to find him lying in a pool of blood. His own blood. I crouch next to him moving his hands from his neck. A bullet must have grazed him, ripping open major artery. I look down at him, heart breaking. He won't survive this. He's lost too much blood.

Nate grabs my arm with a death grip. He gasps for air, begging for help using his eyes. I put my hands over the bullet wound. It won't really help, but I do it to comfort him. Nate whimpers when I shift my fingers. "I know, buddy, I know it hurts. Just hang in there, okay? You're gonna be fine." His movements start to slow as blood continues to flows through my fingers, including the rise and fall of his chest, but his grip on my arm doesn't falter.

They taught us in Naval basic training to never let a dying person grab hold of you. There's a reason they call it a death grip. To them, you represent life, the thing quickly slipping through their grasp. Nate's grasp. And I don't have the heart to pry his fingers off.

"Su… Su…" Nate tries to get my attention, but he can't get the words out.

"What is it, kid?"

"I…" His heart rate cuts in half, barely fluttering. "I… Su… lly…" Nate gives one more shudder, then his body goes limp. The blood flow slows to a standstill.

I slowly take my hands away and run them through my hair. The kid lays with his eyes open, mouth ajar, last words lost to the world. I slide my arms under his torso and cradle him close. "My boy…" I whisper, stroking his hair and blinking back tears. "Oh no, god, no. Please… Nate…"

I wake with a start, gripping the pillow. I wipe the sweat off my face. It was starting to collect in my moustache. The feeling of holding dead Nate was too real. To shake it off, I get up to get a drink. I root around the fridge for a bottle of water and chug it.

On my way back to my room, I take a peek into Nate's room. He's lying on his stomach, arms randomly splayed over the mattress, mouth agape, drooling slightly. He's usually a light sleeper, plagued by nightmares, so hearing him snore is a good thing. I smile when I notice his blanket on the ground. He must have been dreaming and kicked it off. I quietly push his door open, gather his sheets, and recover him. He stirs, so I stroke his back soothingly until his breath settles back into a rhythm. I watch over him for a few more minutes. My face reflects the content look on Nate's slack face. "Goodnight, kid."