Like... Last July

"Which windows?!" Jeff yelled.

"Fourth and fifth down from the alley!"

Their team had a system they all had agreed on. Jeff knew it was Greg's turn to be "hero" but he quickly decided he should get Tom. Greg wasn't as fast as he was and he was a smaller target than his tall friend too. He wished they had just said hell with the fifty. "Let's hit 'em and I'll get Tom! Greg, you gotta watch the flanks too! I just saw a hadji run away on the right! And don't forget the cars and your six!"

Jeff hoped Tom wasn't hit too badly. They would get him inside, patch him up, and then maybe they could sneak out the rear door, maybe use a grenade to blow a hole in the wall to the store next door, somehow get outside behind the shops. And after that, they would somehow manage to make their way out of Dodge. It was possible, and maybe the radio would work on some rooftop too. It might take a little luck but they were due for some.

"Fine! You be 'hero!' Let's just get his ass in here!" Greg knew it was his turn, but with Tom bleeding outside he didn't want to waste time arguing about it. He was now more concerned with how he was going to cover his friends adequately. He knew Jeff didn't really expect him to be able to fire everywhere at once. "Let's hit those windows!"

Jeff fired on full auto into the two windows for 10 seconds. He popped his head outside the doorway again to check right and left along the buildings. Nothing. He dropped his weapon and clapped Greg on the back.

Greg shouted, "Go!" He kept firing on full auto holding the weapon with one arm as he reached for another magazine. He knew he would have to get mags off the no-name kee-ah soon.

In a crouching position Jeff darted the fifteen feet to his fallen friend. Tom's sleeve was soaked with blood, so was the top of his pants. Tom blinked and then looked blankly at him. Jeff knew it wasn't a simple shoulder wound. The round had undoubtedly zig-zagged into Tom's chest. Out the corner of his right eye, Jeff saw an incoming smoke trail. He glanced down the street and saw the kid in the striped T holding the launcher.

Like the car accident he had his sophomore year, the world shifted into slow motion for Jeff. The firefight sounds disappeared. He began to yell "Incoming!" as he watched both his hands grab the bloody collar of Tom's vest and pull him upward with all his adrenalized strength. Tom rose but couldn't stand, his mouth opened and blood began spilling out. Jeff's right arm moved downward beginning a fireman's carry but he started falling backwards as his friend's weight leaned heavily onto him. He struggled to push Tom up as his left foot desperately tried to get a purchase on the gravel strewn concrete. Jeff realized too late that he should have just dragged his friend. He had to get Tom and himself as far away from the Humvee as possible if not into the building, but his foot slid on pebbles and they continued falling. His body twisted towards Tom and he saw the RPG wobble slightly just before it rammed into the rear of the Humvee.

Jeff imagined he would see a bright orange flash but as the blast instantaneously lifted and slammed Tom and him against the building, it was blinding snow white he saw which then dissolved into tiny flashing crimson stars on a black background.

Jeff wasn't sure how much time had elapsed before his eyes opened. He was sitting up, his lower back was pressed firmly against the wall. His head was bowed. Maybe he had dozed off for awhile. His eyes swiveled to his right expecting to see Tom resting next to him but the concrete was just littered with smoldering shrapnel, chunks of muddy, brown clay, and large spatters of wet red paint. He was sitting in a puddle of it. It had been stupid to sit in it.

Jeff didn't sense himself breathing but he didn't feel short of breath either which seemed somewhat odd to him. The street was dead quiet. He was glad the firefight was over. It felt good to have his helmet off. He was calm and relaxed to his very core and decided it was an added relief not having to breathe.

When he rolled his head to the left he saw Greg in the doorway and couldn't understand why he was still firing his weapon, nor why it made no sound. He looked away from his friend and noticed some guy's arm laying a few feet from him. He wondered how he had missed seeing it earlier. He slowly raised his head and pressed the back of his skull against the stucco wall. He gazed at the pale, dusty sky above the buildings across the silent street.

He thought about the letter in his shirt pocket again. It was never far from his mind. He reached up to pat it even though he knew it was there. He did that sometimes because it somehow made her seem closer, in a way it was a bit like touching her too. He couldn't feel the envelope and wondered why his fingers had gone numb, then realized it must be his body armor in the way. He really didn't need to touch it, nor see it, nor even read it again. He had all three handwritten pages memorized. She loved him beyond words, she'd get a divorce, somehow things would work out and no one would be hurt.

As millions of swirling black insects began filling in his field of vision, his lips formed silent words: Ahh Pamela, I wish you would've change your mind sooner... like... last July.

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(comments, critiques, feedbacks welcome)