8th of November, a bones fanfic

A/N: Song is '8th of November' by Big & Rich. For my own Uncle Dennis who is still haunted by what he saw. God Bless all who have fallen.

He said goodbye to his momma
As he left South Dakota
To fight for the Red, White, and Blue
He was 19 'n green with a new M-16
Just doin' what he had to do.

Special Agent Seeley Booth looked down at his watch and cursed. He was already running late and traffic was standing still. "Damn it," he said, slamming the heel of his right hand against the steering wheel of his SUV. He took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves before forcing himself to relax back into his seat. He knew he wasn't going to go anywhere any time soon. The darkness of night had engulfed him and Booth felt his mind begin to drift. The image of his Uncle Dennis filled his mind. A sad smile touched his lips. It had been a long time since he had seen his uncle, and he knew that it would be a long time until they met again. The funereal was still fresh in his mind, and Booth shook his head slightly to clear out the picture of his uncle dead in a coffin. Today wasn't about his uncle, well not completely. It was about a lot of good men who lost their lives. Booth looked at his watch again just as traffic began to move.

He was dropped in the jungle
Where the choppers would rumble
With the smell of napalm in the air
Then the sergeant said, "Look up ahead"

Booth could remember that his uncle had told him over the years about Vietnam. In fact, hearing the passion in the older man's voice was one of the reason he had joined the Army. Sure, he knew that a lot of innocent lives where lost, and he saw his uncle slowly go crazy as he relived his time overseas, but there was always something about the companionship that his uncle spoke about that pulled at Booth's heart. He knew that his Uncle Dennis hadn't told him everything, and for that he was grateful, but the stories that he did relive out loud stuck with him.

And like a dark, evil cloud
1,200 came down
on him and 29 more
They fought for their lives
But most of them died
In the 173rd Airborne

His uncle had been so proud of being in the Airborne, a small group of men that were brothers by the forces of nature. They all depended on each other for their lives. Each knowing that the man to the left and right of you were your best chance of getting home. Booth gave a deep sigh as he moved through the darkened streets. Yes, today was about those who didn't make it home.

On the 8th of November,
The angels were cryin'
As they carried his brothers away
With the fire rainin' down
And the Hell all around
There were few men left standin' that day
Saw the eagle fly,
Through a clear, blue sky
1965, the 8th of November

Finally he pulled off the main road into a small parking lot. A neon sign flashing above the door announces the name of the bar. Booth checked his watch again after he shut off the engine. I hope I'm not too late. He quickly climbed from his SUV and began toward the door. His nerves began to hum as fresh thoughts filled his mind, thoughts about his Uncle Dennis' best friend, Ben. The old man should be right inside.

Now he's 58
And his ponytails gray
But the battle still plays in his head
He limps when he walks,
But he's strong when he talks
About the shrapnel they left in leg

Ben and Dennis were two of only a handful of men to return after the war, but now his uncle was gone, and he felt it his place to be with Ben tonight. Booth pushed the door open and paused briefly to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light. With a quick scan, he found Ben sitting by himself at the end of the bar. His gray suit only slightly tighter now then when he first put it on. Booth moved toward him and sat down. "Didn't think you would make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Booth answered as the bartender place a mug of beer in front of him.

He puts on a gray suit
Over his airborne tattoo
He ties it on one time a year
And remembers the fallen,
As he orders a tall one
And swallows it down with his tears

"To the ones who fell," Ben said, his glass raised in toast.

"In every war," Booth added.

On the 8th of November,
The angels were cryin'
As they carried his brothers away
With the fire rainin' down
And the Hell all around
There were few men left standin' that day

He said goodbye to his momma
As he left South Dakota
To fight for the Red, White, and Blue
He was 19 'n green with a new M-16
Just doin' what he had to do.