Robert Carter, age 27

I have surpassed my birthday, which was days ago. Maddie sent me a quilt that will never not be used here.

Ugh, I think. You don't have time to think about that. It is February 14th and I am in the middle of shooting down as many enemies as possible.

I shoot in front of me swiveling around in forty-five degree angles. I see, if I take a sharp left, I see John.

Slowly I begin to back up and move closer to him. John is approximately twenty-five yards away. When I can, I look over to see him. He jolts backwards. I don't have time to stop in confusion, but I can't drop everything in the middle of this situation.

John tries to sit up, but when the enemies fire, he is shot down again. I almost scream his name, but I refrain.

I want to help him, he could still be alive. Instead I see another figure go to help. He attempts to lift John, but John's body is limp. He is already gone. I want to scream, but screaming won't do anyone any good.

All I can do is blink a few times; blink the tears away. The man helping John is hot too. He collapses near John's body. I recognize this comrade all too well. His name is Jack Carter.