Daniel B. Jackson

PFC 2nd Ranger Battalion Company C

Tennessee 1921

Private Reiben stared angrily at the cold stone. He would have gladly died if it meant that his old friend would rise from the hard ground. It's not like Reiben was doing much of anything with his life these days, anyway.

This thought only lead him to think of the piles of bones and long-decomposed bodies underneath the other crosses. But what was under his feet? In his mind, a bell tower erupted into a volcano of flame. What had the medics found? Two pieces of metal clinking together as they fell through the air?

Reiben vaguely wondered if Jackson's dog tags were under there. He shook his head as he entertained the wild thought of digging up the grave to check.

Reiben thought about it. He didn't really care if he got caught, nothing really mattered to him anymore. But what if there wasn't anything under there? Did he really want to disturb his comrade's final resting place?

Reiben glanced up at the other crosses. He could just make out a familiar face staring at a grave he had visited often.

So Ryan was visiting Miller's grave, huh? Reiben shook his head, disgusted. He saw a group of people standing behind Ryan. His family? Reiben looked behind himself. No one.

He had married a few times, sure. But his anger over what had happened sixty-five years ago had brought on a pattern of divorces. It didn't matter, though. He just couldn't find anyone who understood him like his comrades had. He longed for someone to call him Reiben again. Just once more. All he ever heard now was Richard. It had been sixty-five years since he had been called Reiben.

He angrily looked away from Ryan. He lived his whole life, then decided to come pay his respects to the Captain who had died rescuing him? Reiben had forgotten how many times he had come here. Whenever he broke down and fell prisoner to the memories, he came back to Normandy. Back to the beach. Back to the beginning of the mission that destroyed the best damn squad in the army.

And what about the rest of the squad? Jackson, Mellish, Caparzo, Horvath, and Wade had all died rescuing Ryan. Why didn't he visit their graves? Because he was an asshole, that's why. Reiben had known it the minute he heard about the mission. Private Ryan was an asshole.

Reiben hated a lot of people. But there was no one that Reiben hated more than Private Ryan. They had all risked their lives for him, six of them had died for him, and the kid just runs off and makes the most of the life they were denied, barely even giving them a second thought.

"Was it worth it, Miller? Did you get you're longer-lasting light bulb?" Reiben whispered bitterly to the wind. He pushed away the guilty feeling that rose in his chest. Why was he blaming Miller? It was Ryan's fault.

Reiben stared down at the cross once more. And then the worst possible thought crossed his mind.

Had they found his cross?

Had it been destroyed in the explosion, or had someone found it?

And for the millionth time Reiben wondered where Jackson was now.

Reiben had never been very religious, so as he looked to the sky he wondered if there really was a Heaven. Was Jackson up there, watching from the stars? Or was he just a memory? As Reiben looked back at the cross, he could only know one thing for sure. Jackson wasn't under that cross. There was nothing under that white cross, just cold, hard earth.

And maybe some dog tags.