Trying to sleep, thinking of the conversation we just had.

Sam: You know what the biggest mistake about this war is?

Kevin: What, that we're in it with pencilneck fucks like you? I could have told you that.

{laughter}

Sam: No. Jesus, man.

Me: Lighten up, Kev. Jesus.

Kevin: Hey, I'm just saying.

Sam: Well you say too much, man. That's the problem. You say too much and you-

Me: Easy, man. Don't do Tali's job for him.

Kevin: Okay, sorry. What's your point, pencilneck?

Zeke: Aww, don't start that shit again, Kev.

Sam: It's that this country... it's not a country. It's just a territory.

Kevin: *pause, then snorts* Okay. Thank you for that amazing insight, Sam.

Zeke: *laughs*

Fred: Dude, shut up. I'm trying to sleep.

Sam: No, really. Think about it. This country isn't a unified political entity. It's got borders and a flag and a capital, but all it really ever was was a bunch of tribes trying to herd goats and harvest opium. And kill each other, too. Hell, that's why they welcomed the Taliban as leaders, finally. An end to war, they thought.

Me: Yeah, and...?

Sam: The British tried to take this country for strategic purposes back in the 19th century. They couldn't do it because there was nothing to take. And the Soviets... Jesus, how long did they spend trying to take this place? And they couldn't do it, either.

Zeke: Well, I always thought them Russians were a bit over hyped, myself.

Kevin: So we can't do it because the Limeys and the Ruskies couldn't do it?

Sam: No, I'm saying that we can't do it because no one can do it. This place won't even let the people who live here take complete control of it. It defies control. It eats it alive and shits out corpses.

Me: Ah, we can do it. We're a bit light on the ground, but-

Sam: No, we can't. We should just satisfy ourselves with making sure we've got someone good in Kabul and making sure the bastards don't come out of the mountains. And then as soon as we've got Osama I say we get the fuck out. This place is... it's wrong. This place is no place.

Zeke: Jesus, cut that shit out. You are scaring my ass.

Kevin laughed it off, but Fred told us to shut the fuck up and get some sleep. And no one wanted to argue with him.

{Scene 1}

Larry: Look, ma, I don't expect you to understand ... I know, I know ... Explain it? Hell, I don't understand it, myself. I just know that I have to. That's all.

*silence for a few beats*

Larry: No, this isn't about cousin Pete. I never really liked him ... Yes, I'm sorry it happened! You think I'm not? Poor guy didn't ask for that. None of them did ... No, it's not about him, ma. I told you.

*silence for a beat*

Larry: Because... damn, I wish I could explain. It's just that, ever since it happened, I've had this feeling. And it's been nagging me and nagging me, and you know how I am about-

*silence for a beat, Larry rolls his eyes*

Larry: Okay. Sorry, ma. Bad joke.

*silence for a beat*

Larry: Real bad joke. Right.

*silence for two beats*

Larry: So there's been this feeling, and it's been chasing after me since it all happened. It finally got hold of me a month ago, and it just wouldn't let me go. I couldn't get the feeling out of my head that I should be over there. I should be doing my part. I should be contributing. I should be

What's Larry's problem? For some reason, the words just won't come. Even in the dreams, they won't come.

Why? He's not stupid, and he's not at a loss for words, usually. He just doesn't speak unless it's important to be said. So either he doesn't know the reason why he's volunteering, or...

Shit, why did I volunteer? I couldn't put it into words, either.

Killing isn't my thing at all. I'm a firm believer that serious violence should happen off-stage, for crying out loud. Always have been, even before I went around calling myself a playwright.

Jodie really went apeshit. She called me a hypocrite and... well. I guess I found out where that was going, didn't I? Better off that way, now, than with a house and two kids.

But my dad, Jesus. We had such a fight when I told him. He still thinks I must have gone mad.

Maybe we all went a little mad that day, but that wasn't it. I just felt it was something I had to do. It was crazy, stupid, and just not me, but it felt right

No. Not right. Wrong. Alien, even. But I had to do it. Why?

Frank and Marty's bodies are gone. There is no trace of them at all. There's just the areas on the ground where the dust was settling up against them, and the blood was pooling into the earth, and the covers he'd put over them.

Joe won't say where they went, or what he did with them. He says they have returned to the wheel, so what does it matter what fate befalls their shells. Or something like that. Something weird and wrong that no one dares to talk sideways about for fear of something even worse happening to them.

Kevin's raging mad about that, being the Corpsman, but what can he say? Where could they be? What could Joe have done with them?

The bodies are fucking gone.

About midday, according to the Sun. Our watches all stopped working as of this morning.

We all just noticed, when we compared notes this rest stop. Landmarks, then compasses, then watches. What the fuck is next? The stars?

Sam points out that we haven't seen any contrails of jets, or heard any helicopters. No sounds of explosions off in the distance, either.

And we should have been able to see the fire base from the top of the mountain if it really was just 4 clicks away. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Joe doesn't care. Maybe he doesn't notice, or he doesn't see how serious this is, anymore. Maybe he isn't with us on this level anymore, either. Whatever shine he had in his eyes when we started this recon has been completely replaced by

Emptiness. That's the only thing I can say. It got bad when we got a little lost, that first day, and John-Samuel said we should head back. But Joe suggested we go a little further, and John-Samuel made the mistake of taking him up on it.

And then we were really lost. All of the mountains looked the same, and our compasses started to give different readings. And the maps didn't conform. And then Joe

And then the Shooter got John-Samuel. The one we've been chasing since. The one who killed Marty and Frank with that same fucking .303 cannon. The one who's always one fucking step ahead of us, laughing.

{Why did I write Joe, just then?}

Jesus, Zeke. I'm so fucking sorry. It should have been me. I was Fire Leader. It should have fucking been me.

We had the bastard. I know we did. I know!

We were so whipped up. So pissed off at the mountains, the sun, the weather, the water, low rations... so pissed off at Joe and how he's leading us to our deaths out here.

So when we thought had the bastard, we went up the hill after him, almost screaming as we charged. I think we were to kill God, Himself, if He got in our way.

Anything to get the shooter. Anything to get this done. Anything to get back home, to the fire base, again. Anything to get out of here.

And I got careless because I was hoofing it, and I missed stuff. Zeke didn't miss it, and leaped at it, hoping to defuse the little gift the shooter had left behind.

And

And it was just like that Taliban, back there. Pieces everywhere, only raw and red and wet, this time. Pieces all over me. A screaming skull with eyes wide open, shouting for me to duck and cover forever and ever.

The shooter was long gone. Up over the top of the hill, probably. Or maybe he circled back behind us, and he watched us pick up Zeke's pieces, one by one.

We can hear Joe off in the distance, talking over Zeke's pieces body. We're bunked down and it's night and Kevin's starting to lose it. He shakes every time the wind shifts and we think we can hear what Joe's saying.

He so badly wants to kill Joe, and he's not the only one. Fred's got the idea in mind, too, now. The words sprouted straight up and bloomed like weeds in Spring. Hell, even Sam's got the look. Sam of all people.

And so do I, dammit. So do I. I looked in my signal mirror a moment ago and saw a stranger looking at me. A stranger still dotted with red spots that used to be a friend.

The wind shifts and we can't hear Joe anymore. We can only hear the wind, now. We can hear things scuttling out in the distance. Animals following us, or maybe Taliban sneaking up, or the Shooter, trying to freak us out.

We're running low on ammo. Enough for one more major firefight and then we're done. We're almost out of water, and we'll have to drink piss if this keeps up. Marty isn't here to be sick at that thought, anymore.

The sky is now completely fucking wrong. The stars aren't even where they should be, or what they should be. The moon's light is the wrong color, too, and we all look like ghosts in dead flesh under its light.

Dead men walking.

Kevin finally says the word: "Tomorrow."

Sam nods. Fred nods. I nod. And so it is done.