June 9, 1944
West of St. Come du Mont

Allen-n-Garnett...

It's become a habit to say their names as if it was one, sort of like peanut butter and jelly. They just went together so well that you couldn't have one without the other. Those two were always with each other, no matter where they were.

Hell, they managed to fucking die together. God Almighty, how did they do that…?

I could only stare at my sergeant as he went to talk with Leggett, letting my thoughts cloud my mind and anger fill up inside of me. My eyes wandered off to the lifeless body of Allen. I couldn't bear to look at Garnett – I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was shoot Leggett.

Go on, Ellie. Your rifle's right where it's suppose to be – in your hands. And Leggett… Leggett's right in front of you. Go on.

I began to raise my rifle when Sergeant Baker walked past Red and me. "He didn't see anything," was all he said. I felt a hand on my shoulder, one with a ring on its finger. I stared on and did nothing. Red was always there for me, and I admired him for that. But nothing, not even one of his small gestures, could comfort me at a time like this.

I slowly lowered myself to the ground and hugged my knees. A slight teardrop fell down my cheek but that was it. I mean, I could barely breathe and I felt like throwing up my heart but a teardrop was all that I feared for anyone to see. I stayed like that for a good ten minutes, thinking…arguing…

A hand appeared in front of me. Good ol' Red's back for another round, but this time I take his hand. We walk away, and I take a last look at the scene: Leggett still on the ground, my two best friends dead, and everyone else just as confused as I was.