A*F*T*E*R*M*A*S*H

October 19, 1991

Wadi Goqba, Kuwait

Brian Winchester was bored.

His unit had been camped for two weeks in this godforsaken desert hellhole. It was 130 degrees in the shade, and it didn't help that everyone was still required to wear full uniform at all times. Even his sergeant, who was a complete and total hardass, had given up on the drills and exercises after the first three days.

Nothing was happening, anyway. There might have been troops liberating grateful Kuwaitis and firebombing Saddam Hussein elsewhere in the Middle East, but Wadi Goqba was dead. Brian was understandably pissed about that. Spurred on by optimistic Army commercials, he had enlisted in order to receive a shitload of medals that would get his mom off his back about doing something constructive with his life, and maybe impress that Linda chick back home who thought she was hot stuff because she had been shortlisted as a dancer on a Madonna video.

Of course, you had to actually do something in order to earn medals. And Brian wasn't sure that there was any medal awarded for "drinking fifteen warm Cokes in a row without puking or burping" or "memorizing every single damn guitar riff on the London Calling cassette". Most of the guys had brought girlie magazines and playing cards in order to pass the time, and there were even a few geeks that had started a Dungeons and Dragons game. The only thing that Brian had brought was his trusty Walkman and his tapes. Unfortunately, he hadn't brought enough batteries.

He was currently lying on his cot reading his mail. There was a letter from his mom, talking about how proud she was of him and chatting about her azaleas. One from his little sister, raving about her new hairdo and the latest Prince album and asking him where he had hidden his Atari. Like he was really going to tell her. That grubby little brat wasn't getting her paws on his treasured game system.

Then there was the letter from his great-uncle Charles. Brian was happy about that. The old man was getting a little senile, according to his dad, but he still had some good things to say.

"My dear grand-nephew," the letter began. "I cannot tell you how very proud of you I am that you enlisted in the Armed Forces in order to serve your country. It is one of the noblest things a young man can do with his life.

            "Having said that, I sincerely wish you had not enlisted. Do you not recall the stories I told you about the horror and privation of war? An Army tent is no place for a young man as sensitive and intelligent as yourself.

"Your generation is fortunate: the President has no draft policy. In my time, if I had been able to avoid service, I would have, but I had no choice. The war we were fighting at the time had nothing to do with the security of America, and neither does the one you are fighting.

            "Even though I do not approve of what you are doing, I am very proud of you for having done so. I realize that may seem paradoxical, but it is all true. I dearly hope you will be able to come home soon."

Brian folded up the letter. The last time he had seen Charles was three years ago, when the family had made the pilgrimage from Los Angeles to Boston. The old man had told him about the war in Korea in the 1950s, a time that Brian had previously associated with poodle skirts and fin tailed cars.

He hadn't even known there had been a war then. Nobody except for the soldiers in it had paid that much attention to it. Charles said that was because World War II had just ended. Everyone wanted to be happy about the postwar era; nobody wanted to know about yet another was that was going on. One war had been enough.

That, Brian thought, was in sharp contrast with the Gulf War. It had only been going on for a couple of weeks, but it was huge news. People couldn't get enough of it. It was all over CNN.

Charles had his own theory about that, too. He thought the problem was that there hadn't been enough happening in the world that people could get really excited over. "There is nothing like a good war to bring the hearts and minds of our countrymen together," he had written. "With the advent of so much pop culture, particularly this MTV thing your younger sister seems so enamored with, every world event seems to be so remote from everyday life that nobody is particularly interested in it. After all, who in America, besides a few old men like me, really cared when the Berlin Wall fell and Communism was at last defeated? No, the young people of your generation are so self-absorbed that nothing affects them except that which affects them personally."

Brian had originally taken that as an insult, until he remembered that his uncle didn't really count him as one of the self-absorbed new generation. During that visit to Boston, Charles had taken him to see the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Brian had dutifully sat through it, and had even liked it a little. Later, Charles had complimented him on being so cultured, and told him that he was a welcome change from the empty-headed teenagers he saw all around him.

In Charles's opinion, people were starved for relevant happenings in their life. He particularly blamed MTV. No longer, he said, could young men and women participate in making the news they saw all around them; it was all about celebrities anymore. The disaffected young men and women were so amazed by something they themselves could do, instead of watching it on television, that they were making a disproportionate fuss over something that wasn't theirs in the first place.

The only problem, Brian thought, was that the stuff that Charles thought was supposed to take the place of TV was the biggest thing on TV. And in the newspapers. And the radio. And pretty much everywhere else.

There had been soldier profiles in the paper every day. People Brian didn't even know had been sending him care packages. Some guys from his base had even been interviewed on CNN…

The perky interviewer girl tossed back her hair and smiled at the camera. In any other war she would have been a welcome reminder of home, a vacation from the unending filth and fighting of the masculine privation of war. Here, with portable satellite TVs and female volunteers, she was just another annoying civilian who had no idea what was going on.

"We're here in Wadi Goqba in Kuwait, where our brave troops are struggling to liberate the country from under the grasp of Saddam Hussein. Now, a little background on this place. In the 12th century, it was a stopping point for travelers on the Spice Route. The name is Chaldean for—"

"Hi, I'm Sergeant Alda A. Pepper of the Blue Meanies!" Brian's sergeant interrupted her in the nick of time. "These guys are my squad. Say hi, men! And women," he added, referring to Heather, the base's computer technician and lone female. "We've been here for, eh, about a week."

"Fantastic! And who are these brave young soldiers?"

"Well, this is Derek, over here. He takes care of the Humvees. And this is Kevin. He's surveillance. And this here is Brian." The sergeant pulled Brian to his side.

In the harsh glare of the camera light, Brian's blonde hair shone white and his skin looked pale. He grinned wanly. "Hi," he said.

"So Brian, where are you from?" A camera was immediately shoved in his face.

"Um, I'm from Los Angeles."

"So what's it like out here?"

"Well, it's really hot. And it's really dry."

"Would you like to say anything?"

"Yeah. I just want to say hi to my great-uncle, Charles. Hi!" Brian waved.

"You looked really lame, man." Kevin rewound the tape. Brian watched himself go backwards, take back the wave and see his words come out of his mouth, be pushed away from the sergeant's side.

"I think he looks fine." Derek squatted on the ground near Brian's cot. "I mean, nobody is going to look very good on TV without a ton of makeup."

"Yeah," said Heather. "Actually, he looks pretty damn cute."

"Aw, Baby looks so cute." Kevin pinched Brian's cheeks. "What a sweet widdle boy."

"Shut up, man." Derek whacked Kevin across the head.

"You look like you could be a rock star or something." Heather snuggled up to Brian. He inched away from her. Heather was totally hot, but she really wasn't Brian's type.

Kevin wiggled over to Heather. "Hey hot mama, why don't we go on a date tonight?"

Heather wrinkled her nose. "Where to?"

"I was thinking we could go out to dinner at a fancy restaurant and then to a movie. Afterwards, we could drive up to Lover's Lane and stargaze."

Derek snickered.

"All right, I mean we can swap MREs and watch Wolf Blitzer give away military secrets. Then we can take a tank out to the desert and watch the burning oil wells."

"How sweet. I think I would rather just stay here and, I don't know, watch this again." Heather cued the VCR. "Brian, this is really pretty good. You should go on MTV."

Brian laughed. He was so lucky to have such good friends.

Heather had finally agreed to go out with Kevin. They had taken the Jeep out to a sand dune where, Kevin claimed, there were lovely cacti with little red flowers. Derek and Brian were left behind.

Brian was sitting on top of a tank when Derek climbed up. "Hey," he said, clambering into place and settling himself down.

"Hi." The sun had set, and it was getting sort of cold. Brian shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso.

"You cold?" Derek took off his jacket and placed it around Brian's shoulders. It was still warm from Derek's body heat. Brian sighed and closed his eyes.

"The view from up here is great, isn't it?" It was already quite dark. The horizon was a red line in the desert. There was an occasional orange-yellow flare from an oil well that had just gone up.

"It's nice." Derek leaned against him.

There was total quiet for a few minutes as the two boys stared at nothing. Finally, Derek broke the silence. "So, you come here often?"

Brian laughed. "Yeah, all the time. I usually listen to my Clash tapes up here."

"Yeah, "Rock The Casbah" is a good song for the war." Derek put his arm around Brian.

Brian nodded. "You know, there are times when I wish I never had to leave this place."

"Why? I would think anyone would want to get out of here."

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. I guess…well, it's because of you guys. You and Kevin and Heather. I've never had friends like you guys, people I could talk to and just hang out with. And I know that when this war is over, I'm never going to see any of you again."

Derek squeezed him. "You know that's not true, Bri. There'll be reunions and stuff. And if we all stay in the Army, we'll probably see each other all the time…" He trailed off. "That's not what you meant, is it?"

Brian shook his head. "I really like this, you know? It feels like there isn't even anyone else in the unit, just us four. And we can just stay here forever."

"I wish I could stay here forever, too," Derek murmured. He shifted to face Brian. "I really like being with you, Bri. Just sitting here on the tank, watching the desert burn…it's really nice."

Brian didn't say anything. After a while, Derek jumped off the tank and went back into the tent. "Goodnight, Bri."

Brian fished out his Walkman and slipped on his headphones. He turned on the tape player and leaned back against the turret, letting the familiar opening chords of "London Calling" wash over him as the fires of Kuwait warmed his eyes but not his heart.