I can’t breathe. DAMMIT I WILL NOT CRY. The woman finally releases me and turns to face the crowd with me. She has wrapped her arm around my waist. God she’s still as beautiful as I remembered her. She’s wiping tears from her face. I look down at the woman hugging me. ‘Linda what are all these people doing here,’ I croak. Linda looks up at me and smiles. ‘They’re here to welcome you home Larry. We’ve all missed you so much. We were terrified when we found out how badly you had been injured. We wanted you to know how much you mean to all of us and we wanted you to know how glad we were that you came home to us.’ I walked farther into the crowd. I couldn’t believe it. Women were crying and touching me. Men shook my hand and many hugged me too. Oh, shit, there’s a bunch of my old teachers. There’s old Mr. Patterson, the Principal of the high school. He walked up to me and shook my hand. He stared into my eyes. ‘Larry I was wrong. I am so proud to know you. I’m proud I helped guide you. If the truck didn't finally blow, whoever the fuck had fired that round was out there somewhere and...Except that the shot that killed us all — maybe not there and then but — fucks sake — we were on foot and deep, deep, deep in bandit country — that shot was never was followed up. Probably a lone shepherd boy or some other fuck — happened to have an RPG to hand, had a go. Or so we reasoned as we salvaged what we could carry from the wreck, growing used to the lack of in-coming, knowing that soon enough everyone would know where we were. And how exposed we were going to stay...We reached some sort of cover for peak daylight — sort of scrubby forest in the bottom of the valley — and lay up for a while. Even got radio contact with BHQ — fuckers — hoping the local fuckheads couldn't work the radio location gear we knew they now had. Probably knew damn' well where we were anyway, for fucks sake and not that HQ was any fucking help. Told us they'd track us with a drone, which was really.
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