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half-dragged towards the sound. “Nick,” Dan coughed, just as Nick put a hand on what he hoped like hell was Dan’s arm, still connected to his torso. The yelling had mostly stopped, leaving in its wake a terrifying silence punctuated by the snap and crackle of flames and the yammering of a radio somewhere to his right.
    “Nick,” Dan croaked out, “I’m…shit….” He made a terrifying noise somewhere between a sob and a moan of pain. Nick dragged him up, held him close.
    “Shh, I’ve got it. Help me find the com. I can’t fucking see anything.”
    Dan groaned. The metallic odor of blood filled Nick’s nose again, making him want to puke. His hand found Dan’s, and he tried to remain calm, to remember his years of training. “Your face…” Dan whispered.
    “I know how good looking I am. Now help me find the com.” Nick grunted in pain when he started to stand again, his leg singing out a clear tune of torment. He shook, called on his inner reserve of Marine-instilled calm, took a breath, and let Dan grab his arm. If only he could just see.
    “No, Nick, go to your left, pull Tanner out of the fire.”
    Nick listened as Dan’s voice guided him to save at least a couple more of the doomed platoon of grunts that had been their escort. Although the more he tried to rub whatever the hell was in his eyes out, the more they hurt and the darker it got. He stumbled, cursed, limped, and finally dragged the last man Dan could see from where he sat out of the blaze that used to be the shit-heap houses they’d been sent to recon. His head pounded, his throat felt coated with sand.
    “Dan!” he ground out, crawling now, unable to use his left leg at all and encased in a cocoon of darkness where all he knew was the smell of blood and burning flesh, and the sounds of men in pain. Nick found his target, heard Dan’s ragged breathing, and touched the man’s leg as terror slithered down his spine and his chest ached from inhaling so much smoke. “My eyes,” he said, weakly, touching his face and feeling moisture.
    “Shh…Nick, it’s okay. Just…sit here with me.” Dan’s low voice set off another wave of panic in Nick’s gut. “Please. I want…I need you to put your arms around me.”
    “God damn it!” Nick burst out. “I can’t fucking see you.”
    “It’s okay, it will be….” Dan coughed, and groaned then put his hand back on Nick’s white-hot face. “Nicholas, sit, be calm, hold me.”
    So, Nick sat, pulled Dan into his arms and held him. For how long, he had no idea, but Dan only lived a few more minutes, he was sure. By the time the blast had been reported and a fresh wave of troops arrived, Nick’s face was stiff, and he had stopped hurting. Shock had set in. They had to pry his arms away from Dan’s body. When he woke, he was in the hospital in Germany covered in bandages. His left leg was in a cast from ankle to hip. He was one of three survivors of a roadside blast that took out eight Marines including Dan Anderson, the man he loved.
    He clawed at his eyes, cursed the world for being alive, yelled at the medical staff, refused to eat or drink. None of that changed the fact that Captain Nicholas R. Traynor was alone, and would never see again.
    Nick sat up fast, wishing the nightmare away for the millionth time, once more to no avail. All he’d known for nearly ten years was his life as a Marine. He’d joined after having the rug yanked out from under him when his homophobic father and passive mother got the news about his sexual preferences. Now, after being someone and part of something, he was back to nothing. All his life he’d been what his parents wanted and expected, but when he finally was honest, they tossed him out as if he were a disposable son, a never existing member of their own fucking family.
    He flopped back onto the pillow, recalling the epic bender he went on after stumbling out of his boyhood home that day. His sister had tried to calm him down. She’d followed