The Night after the Mine. The Pact.

Sitting on the slanting slope of a captured bunker,two of us. A cigar apiece. 

Just over there a truck hit a mine today. The Soldier died saying he wasn't supposed to die in Iraq. 

A mine. So close we should have seen them bury it. 

Puffs of smoke, now rise from the concrete slopes of the bunker in the desert night. 

Scotty. Don't let me cry if that happens. 

I won't.

Remind me to be strong. 

I will. I'll tell you to suck it up. Man up. 

K. Good. But stay by me if that happens. 

I will. 

Short, clipped conversation. A few words at a time.

 

Puffs of smoke. A gentle glow from two cigars. Alternating. Drifting up into the clear night.

And you? If it's me?

Oh, I'll be there. I'll tell you to suck it up. 

Good.   

Puffs of smoke rise into the night. 

Policy

You send me to war and say you don't approve of war.
You support your troops.

The policies, nevermind them. We would never go to war for political reasons.
Would we?

Herr Clausewitz disagrees.

Mind you how you vote.
Mind you how you think you don't believe in war.
Mind you.

You sent me there.