"Can you believe my little sister is turning sixteen today?"

"Tell me when she's eighteen, Dal." Pete chimed in, his smirk evident even in the darkened tent.

"Shut the fuck up." Dalton was quick to reply - his words a growl. "As if I'd let a creep like you near her."

Dalton's harsh words didn't appear to wound Pete in the slightest, his smirk growing into that of a grin as he successfully got under the other man's skin.

"You get her anything?" Tray interjected, not bothering to look up from the book he had his head buried in.

Dalton nodded, "I sent my parents money to get her a piano. Finally upgrade from a shitty keyboard she's had for years."

Tray let out a soft whistle, "That must have set you back a bit."

"Meh - I don't really spend my money on anything else." Dalton shrugged, before a grin emerged. "Not like Pete with the tranny prostitutes."

"Holy fuck!" Pete nearly yelled in exasperation. "It was one fucking time!"

I couldn't help but chuckle at Pete's chagrined expression, his eyes glaring daggers across the confines of the room.

"How much did it run you?"

Dalton turned towards me, "Just shy of five-thousand."

It was my turn to let out a whistle.

"Was used too." Dalton added.

"I hope it's worth it." Pete spoke up, his voice even keeled - honest.

"She will only turn sixteen once," Dalton smiled, a far off look appearing within his eyes. "I know how much music means to her. She deserves it."

"Imagine being good at two things," I mumbled. Seeing Pete's curious look, I clarified, "She's good at soccer too."

"Very good," Dalton said, no small measure of pride in his voice.

"And here I am not even good at one thing," I laughed.

"That's not true," Tray replied, resting his book against his chest. "You are pretty good at killing people."

Nodding, "True."

"Plus fucking, if Pete's mom is to be believed." Dalton added, his smirk returning as his gaze swung towards the other man.

"Holy shit," Pete muttered, lobbing his boot across the inside of the tent towards Dalton. "Is this fucking bash Petey day?"

"It's bash Petey day everyday."

I pointed in affirmation towards Tray, agreeing.

"You fucks," Pete muttered, his grin belying his words.

"Hayden asked about you again."

"Me?" I asked, bewildered. "Why?"

Offering me a shrug, "Dunno. Maybe to keep tabs on you to tell your mom?"

His words were like a lance of pain; guilt gnawing away at me once more.

Even after all these years I still hadn't come to terms with my actions. I no longer knew how to bridge the chasm that now existed between my mother and her wayward son.

Dalton must have noticed, his lips parting even as his eyes winced only to be interrupted by Tray.

"You white boys have it so easy."

"How so?" Dalton and I both asked in unison.

Tray explained, "If I had just ghosted my family and ran off to join the army you sure as shit better believe my momma would have shown up at Basic to whip my ass."

Seeing my discomfort, Dal asked Tray, "What did you do when you turned sixteen?" Turning the conversation away from the touchy subject it had quickly begun.

Tray smiled fondly, Dalton's words clearly bringing a happier memory to the surface. "My dad took me on a hunt in the backwoods of northern B.C. Bagged my first buck solo that year." Holding his hands out wide, nearly at arms' length, he continued, "Rack on it must have been this big.

"What about you guys?"

Dalton turned towards me, noticing the silly look Tray's question had brought to my face.

"You fucked Stacy Lopes that day, didn't you?"

I could only grin at the memory.

She had been my first. All soft curves and small smiles as I took her slowly - inexperience warring with enthusiasm.

"I knew it," Dalton added, seeing my shit-eating smile that I couldn't seem to wipe away.

"Didn't you hook up with her friend because of me?" I countered.

"Oh man." Dalton laughed. "Brittney Willis."

"Brittney Winger," I corrected.

Snapping his fingers, "That's the one."

"Christ,"

"I came so hard in her I thought her head was going to pop off,"

"That would have been quite the feat with only two drops," I muttered.

My comment earned me a one finger salute from Dalton.

"I remember when I turned sixteen," Pete mused, a goofy grin on his face. "Dad let me have my first beer."

"Was that before or after he took your virginity?" I asked.

I deflected the boot he threw at me, narrowly knocking it aside before it connected with my jaw.

"You're a real cock sucker, Gray."

"Says the tranny fucker," I laughed.

"What else is there to do in Thailand." He mumbled softly.

The tent flap being thrown open, bathing the interior with a blinding light, halted any further discussion.

I squinted against the glare, only able to make out the silhouette of the intruder before his voice had me scrambling to stand up.

"Men,"

I nearly tripped over my rucksack as I got to my feet, the other men following suit.

"At ease," Captain Hendricks said calmly.

"What's up, sir?" Dalton was the first to ask, taking a seat once more.

Disregarding the informal question, the captain answered quickly, "Intel is coming down from HQ as we speak. Got a squad from the 75th currently pinned down. At least one KIA with several wounded. We are needed on site ASAP."

"Yanks?" Tray asked, appearing bewildered as his gaze swung to each of us before settling upon the Captain once more. "Don't they have their own elements in play?"

Captain Hendricks nodded, "Yes. But their closest FOB is in Delaram which is currently on lockdown in response to a barrage of mortar fire along its perimeter as well as a suicide bomb going off near the check point.

"We believe the two events may be coordinated in an effort to delay any possible support for the Ranger attachment."

"Gear up, men." I shouted, already rushing to slip my Kevlar over my fatigues.

A nervous energy seemed to begin thrumming within the confines of the tent. I felt the restlessness grow within me - adrenaline just waiting to flood through my veins to my extremities.

Nodding at my encouragement, Captain Hendricks said somberly, seriously, "Wheels up in ten. We're going in loud."

Without another word he was disappearing back through the flap in the tent - the momentary sunlight blinding in the darkened room once more.

"Oh baby," Pete said gleefully, "Did he say we are going in loud? Finally get to bring out the C9."

I rummaged under my bed, hefting my C8 IUR into my lap as I gave it a quick once over - doing a press check quickly to ensure there was no round chambered. Butting the rifle against my shoulder; I checked the sights, both the iron and C79 optical sight, before I dry fired in rapid succession. The soft pings as the hammer flew forward had me grinning.

It was time to hunt.

"Hey Dal,"

Dalton swung back towards Pete, an eyebrow cocked expectantly. "What?" He asked brusquely.

"You sure you're sister isn't eighteen yet?"

"I am actually going to shoot you in your fucking face. I swear to God."

"Gray?"

The sound of my name being called had the memory fade away - images slipping into wispy tendrils before the kitchen around me appeared once more. For the briefest of moments I could almost see my friends seated across from me, their heads swinging towards my mom's voice had come from.

I turned towards my mom, offering her a small smile as I noted the worried expression on her face.

"Hey,"

She stepped slowly into the room, hesitantly. It was almost as if she were afraid of intruding upon a moment she hadn't been privy to.

"Everything okay?"

I nodded once, "Just remembering is all."

"Good memories, I hope."

"Very good memories," I smiled. "How did the mom show or whatever go?"

Laying her purse down on the counter, she turned before resting against it, answering, "It was good. More of a ladies outing than anything though."

Her gaze swung towards the shopping bags on the kitchen table I had yet to put away.

"Get a bit of shopping done?"

Nodding, "Just some much needed clothes."

"That's good. Are you hungry?"

I glanced towards the oven clock, surprised to note that it was already half past five.

As if on cue my stomach growled, loud enough to earn a chuckle from my mom.

"I will take that as a yes,"

"Just a bit." I agreed, smiling sheepishly.

I watched as she began rummaging through the cupboards, humming and hawwing softly to herself.

"How does pasta sound?"

"That sounds wonderful." I answered, pushing myself to my feet. "Sauce still kept in the laundry room?"

Nodding as she retrieved a large pot, "Two cans should be enough."

I returned to the kitchen with the cans in hand, opening them before depositing them in the pot on the stove my mom had left out.

"Meatballs and garlic bread work for you as well?"

"I suppose I could find it in myself to choke them down," I smiled.

As the meatballs began to simmer in the sauce on the stove, great gouts of steam rising from the pot beside it as the spaghetti began to cook, my mom took a seat at the table across from me.

I watched as her gaze swung across the bags once more, "How were the stores? Busy?"

With a shake of my head, I answered, "Nah. Not at all."

Clasping her hands in front of her, "That's good."

"I saw Hayden today,"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I ran into her at the Timmies. Surprised she even recognized me."

My mother eyed me critically, openly. "She's turned into a beautiful woman, hasn't she?"

It was more of a statement than a question - as if I were to disagree.

Hayden was beautiful as the sun was bright, as the sky was vast.

It was a simple truth that existed within the world.

"Yes. She most certainly has."