I felt the hot needles splash against my back. I was the only one in the showers.
I started thinking that the squad I worked with three days ago made me feel like I was in my old squad, twenty years ago

Mate reminded me of Seth for some reason, he had short black hair up to his eye like Seth.

I started thinking of Seth again. What if I had been in that chopper? What if I had died with my squad?
These questions kept burning inside me.

I used my memories of Seth to wash it away.

We were eight years old. Seth and I were in a park with our parents on a hot summer day in New York.

Seth ran to the playground and grabbed a stick and saluted me.
"Seth Rion, Sir!" he said. "When I grow up, I'ma be in the army!" he shouted.

"When I grow up, I'ma be a Captain! You're just gonna sweep the floors in our school." I said and pushed him down the slide.

"Captain? We're not talking about pirates, Blondie!" he shouted from the bottom of the slide.

Blondie. Everyone called me that, and Seth started it. I used to hate it as a kid but when I grew up I thought it was pretty funny.

Seth's dad came over, "Hey kids, what's with all the shouting?"

Seth ran over to his father, "Dad! When I grow up, I'ma be in the army! I'ma have a such a big gun!"
He pretened the stick was a gun and shot down invisible people.

He laughed, "Now Seth, remember this: you weapon is always made by the lowest bidder."

I arched my eyebrow at him, "What's that mean, Uncle Tom?"

He ruffled my hair, "You'll learn when your older."

When I'm older. People always told me that. I still don't know what he meant by that.

I turned off the shower and grabbed my towel and made my way back to the tent.

Once I was in bed I found myself thinking of more memories of Seth.

We were thirteen years old. We were walking to school, very, very, very slowly.
It was a icy cold day and Seth asked me "So, how much do you think our lives will suck during math?"

"Uh, what period is math?"

"Fifth period, I think."

"Well, after fifth period we have lunch so I say I have something to look forward to." I said.

Seth turned to me, "You actually like the school food?"

"What's wrong with the pizza?" I asked.

"How do you know it's pizza?" he said with a laugh.

I paused, "Never thought about that."

We laughed and heard the bell at our school for first period.

"Oh crap!" I shouted and we dashed to school in a hurry.

I tried to think of more memories, like our high school years.

I was running towards Seth outside of the school.

"Hey! Seth! Dude! Look!"

He looked over his shoulder at me, "Hey man."

"Look! I got an A+ on the math exam for the semester!"

He sighed, "Nice."

"So, wha'd you get?" I asked.

He handed me his paper and started walking away.

"Oh. . . Uh. . . C-. . . Well I'm sure you can still pass!"

He turned around and stared at me in the face. " 'Well I'm sure you can still pass' my ass! I failed both math and english, to major subjects. I don't think I will be passing the semester."

"Oh sure you will!" I said and patted him on his shoulder. He thrusted his shoulder forward, knocking my hand away.

"I don't want you sympathy." he growled at me.

I had forgotten that his father used to pat him on the shoulder. "Listen, Seth I'm sorry. . . I forgot-"

"Save it! I don't wanna hear it." he said to me with a cold voice and walked off.

"Seth, he was my uncle too!"

"I don't care!"

"I do! My mother named me after him, he was like a father to me."

He spun around and stomped toward me, "And where the hell was your own father?!"

I glared at him. Through clenched teeth I told him, "That's just the thing. I never got to meet him."

"Yeah, because he was such a damn drunk he forgot where he lived."

"Shut up, Seth!"

"Atleast my dad doesn't go out to buy beer and doesn't come back for fourteen years!"

I pushed him back, turned around and stormed off.

I shook my head. I still hated Seth when he said that, I hated the fact that it was true.

I shifted positions in my bunk and tried to remember something else.

We were twenty one. Seth was going out for his birthday and getting his first beer.

He got a long island ice tea. He kept acting like it was the best day of his life, and it was the best day of mine.

It still pains me to think that a year later, he'd die in Chernobyl.

Some time later,

The squad and I would be going on patrol somewhere in the forest because there has been enemy sightings near there.

We had to be quiet, but incase if we fell into any heavy fire, I did have a M60 with the bandoliers strapped across my chest. I laughed a bit every time I remembered Brak saying how heavy the M60 was.

We had to be quiet. But we also had to find our enemy quickly.

We were sneaking through bushes when we heard voices. Arabic voices.

I gestured for the group to fall prone. Mate was beside me.

I whispered to him, "Use your ACOG scope and tell me if you see anything."

He looked through his scope, and we had to wait a few minutes untill he finally said "I have a positive ID of enemy targets. Open fire, mate."

I told the rest of the group and we jumped to our feet and fired.

We heard a voice scream, then bullets started flying back at us. The bullets seemed to miss me, but I didn't pay too much attention to the rest. But there were no crys in pain, so I figured they were okay.

Mate jumped down and shouted to us, "They got grenade launchers! Get down!"

I fell on my right knee, but I didn't mean to. Pain started filling my knee and soon I turned my attention to everyone else.
George was lying on the ground holding his stomach.

"GEORGE!" I screamed and tried running to him, but something prevented me from moving.
I looked down at my leg and saw a bloody wound ripping through my pants.

"I'm hit!" I shouted as loud as I can.

Mate came by my side, "Don't worry, sir. I'm callin' in a chopper, stay alive, mate."

I crawled towards George, but felt unbelievable pain in my wrist. I was shot in the wrist, but I continued to crawl towards George, I couldn't let him die.
Finally I was by his side, "Don't worry, man! C'mon! Stay with me! You can do it!"

He tried to speak but blood filled his throat, so his words came out as a gurgle.

"C'mon. . . You can do it. . . C'mon!"

That seemed to comfort him, but the pain in him burned away that comfort quickly.

My vision started to blur as I laid my head down on the sharp grass. My words echoed as I screamed George's name, but it did no good. No good at all.
I felt my body being lifted up and put into the chopper, which I hadn't even notice was there.

George was laying down on the chopper floor. I watched the rest of the squad continue firing their guns, but they disappeared once the chopper took off.

I grabbed George's hand and squeezed it, "C'mon George. . . survive!" my words still echoed in the blurry vision.
I was unconscience once I had felt George's hand, then his pulse. . .