"Goddamn it," I said to Sgt. Carpenter as Pvt. Carnes walked out of the tent. I shook my head and he nodded, stiffening his lips. I could feel the adrenaline still flowing through me.

Capt. Wilde was walking toward us now, down the length of the tent along our plywood rooms, having passed Pvt. Carnes on his way out. "Those hit inside. I think someone might have gotten killed," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked, anxiously.

"I saw people running around out there and I heard a lot of yelling but I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It's pitch black out there tonight."

"Fuck."

I ran outside and saw the amber glow of someone's cigarette as they stood outside their tent. "Hey, did you see people running out here?"

A voice answered in the dark, "Yah, one guy went that way." And he pointed the way with the glowing head of his cigarette.

I went back inside and the four of us stood in the office area of our tent for a moment. Wide-eyed, we stared into meaningless corners of the room, and into each other's faces, as we focused our ears to the vague noises outside.

"Thump," the wooden door on the front of our tent closed as someone entered. I turned and walked toward them and squinted my eyes down along the rooms trying to see who it was. The hall was dark and the light was behind the figure so I couldn't see his face very well but I could tell it was Pvt. Carnes. He was staggering as he walked as if he might collapse.

We froze as we all watched him walking toward us.

"Carnes? Are you okay? What's the matter?" I asked.

He didn't answer at first. Then his face passed the shadows as he neared me and the light revealed his tormented expression and his tears. "He's dead! He's dead!" he said, sobbing and still staggering toward me.

"Who's dead, Carnes? Who's dead?" I asked.

"The lieutenant, Lt. Browning. He's dead!" He burst into tears. He was standing right in front of me now and he leaned his forehead over the back of his hand, into the metal cross brace at the meeting point of the tent wall and roof pitch.

The rest of the guys were standing behind me and didn't speak as Pvt. Carnes cried, burying his face into the tent canvas.

"Carnes?" I said quietly, "Did you 'hear' or did you 'see'?"

He didn't answer for a moment and then sniffled deeply before he spoke. "I saw, sir," he answered quietly, without turning toward me.

I stepped in closer to him and put my hand on his back just below his left shoulder.

Then he cried out loudly, "He didn't have a head!" and he burst into uncontrolled crying. "He didn't have a head," he said again, quieter now. Then almost inaudibly, and almost as if posing a question, or as if he were confused, "He didn't have a head..."

The words were like ice as they passed through us and I felt the hair on my arms stand up. I rubbed his back with my hand as he continued to cry.

"Let's go sit down, Carnes," I said, and we moved as a group to the office area behind me and I helped Carnes sit in one of the camp chairs.

Pvt. Carnes propped his head on his hands, as he stared down at the floor between his legs, crying forcefully and gasping for air between sobs.

"Let it out man," Capt. Wilde said.

"Pvt. Mac was shaking LT's leg," Pvt. Carnes sobbed, "and he just kept saying, 'Get up, LT. Get up, LT." We shook our heads as we listened. "We had to pull him off of him. Then he just curled up into a ball on the ground and cried." Pvt. Carnes did not look up as he spoke to us and each time he spoke he would go back into a heavier fit of tears. "I just wanna go home. I just wanna go home. I just wanna go home..."

His words echoed through his tears and encircled us, flew above our heads like sparrows in the room. "I just wanna go home, I just wanna go home, I just wanna go home."