Ryan did not waste time in giving him an answer before he signed online. Seeing that Ginger was not on; he left her an IM telling her when he would next be on.

"Okay, big boy she's all yours." He told Gibb as he stood up from the chair.

Before he walked away, Gibson handed him a ten-dollar bill and told him: "Go get us some food."

"Ok!" Ryan replied sharply and headed out of the dayroom.

When he returned twenty minutes later, he noticed a couple other sergeants in his platoon gathered at Gibb's terminal, talking intently.

"Did I miss something?" he said half joking as he came up on the men.

"You could say that?" one of the men smirked and said. Gibb gave him an angry glare that made the man quiet down.

"What?" Ryan asked and looked down at Gibb.

"Hawthorn, sit down. You need to have a look at this." he said and stood up from his chair. Ryan bent down to look at what he was talking about on the computer screen. What he saw was chat transcripts. "Angie said she saw Ginger out at the club a few nights back." Ryan just looked up at him. "She said Gin was dancing real cozy with another soldier." Ryan just looked at him intently, then turned back down and began to read the whole transcript.

"Better you found out now then later." one of the other sergeants said and patted Ryan on the back.

"Is she sure it was her?" Ryan turned to Gibb and asked.

"She said she was. She said she was even sure Gin noticed her, because she left the club real quickly." Gibson replied raising his eyebrows.

"With that guy?" Ryan then asked. Gibson just shrugged and nodded yes.

"That explains a lot." he then said and put his head down on the table.

"Mallory said you can take his turn, since he was such a dick a few minutes before. Right Mal?" Gibb turned to the stunned looking sergeant and said: "Right...."

Mallory mumbled and walked away.

"Why don't you see if your mom or somebody is online?" Gibb said coaxing Ryan just a bit. Gibson did not like to see anyone get hurt like this, especially in a war zone. A pain like this could cause a man to loose concentration. That was something that could not only get that soldier killed, but those around him.

"Thanks bro." Ryan calmly said and signed online.

"You come back to the conex later. We'll talk." Gibb said and began to walk away.

Ryan lifted one hand over his head to acknowledge the invitation. Gibb looked at him for a second later, wondering if he aught to leave his friend of the past four years by himself at a time like this. But then opted to give the man his space. It was just as well that he did this; Ryan was a very private man who chose to keep his feelings at close guard.

A fine attribute, which made him a good soldier, in the eyes of his command. Now serving his second tour in Iraq, Staff Sergeant Hawthorne had always managed to keep himself together. Even when everything around him was falling apart.

Though no one in the unit had ever said so openly, they all knew this tour had been a cluster f*** from the word go!

Hell, the actual war had not been as bad as this trip. On that tour, the objective was clear, remove Saddam from power and give the people of Iraq back their country. But the aftermath seemed to be falling dangerously short of the actual plan. During this tour, Ryan's unit had taken more casualties than they had when the war was being waged.

Sixteen in all, not counting of course the numerous wounded they had incurred. The peace was proving to be more dangerous then the battle. Up until recently, Ryan had felt pretty confident about his survival of this place. But now he was beginning to have doubts. Not just because of Ginger, but because he'd had more close calls this time around than before. He was now beginning to have serious doubts if he would see his thirtieth birthday the following month.

"Oh well..." he thought silently to himself and began to look around on the net. As he began to check his email, he got confirmation that what Gibb's wife had said was correct - in the form of a Dear John email.

Ryan read it over once and deleted it quickly, washing his hands of the whole matter.

Not feeling the need or urgency to re-up his subscription on classmates, he instead closed out his mail and began to look around at the different chat rooms - after he checked to see if his parents were on the net.

Not wanting to talk to any of the local Arabic's he began to look up demographic locations. Noticing a small room was open at his home base in Tacoma Washington, he popped into the room. The topic of conversation was both interesting and a little disheartening. About ten people were arguing about the war in Iraq. Nine were actually. One was trying to stay neutral.

Absurd statements like baby killers and psychopaths with M16's were being thrown around like it was commonplace to say such things.

Now Ryan wondered if he and his comrades were better off being right where they were at? In the mood he was in, Ryan was not so sure if any of those fools would like to find out what a 'psychopath with an M16' was really like?

Before closing out of the room, he gave Nottafinger an IM.

"thanks..." was all he wrote.

"for what?" Nottafinger quickly typed back.

"for not dogging on us." Ryan replied and began to close out.

However, before he could, Nottafinger replied:

"R U a vet?"

"yes, you could say that." Ryan replied.

"which one did you serve in?" Nottafinger then asked.

"the one here in Iraq." Ryan answered, then said: "oh yeah, almost forgot, there ain't no war going on here anymore. lol."

"lol...I know what you mean. my husband says the same thing about that whole situation."

"your husband is serving here also?" Ryan asked.

"yes, since October." Nottafinger answered.

"yeah I've been here since May." Ryan replied.

"could I ask you something?" Nottafinger asked.

"I guess?" Ryan answered now feeling unsure if IMing this person was such a good idea after all. All he needed now was to find out that one of the wives of a fellow soldier wanted to make dirty talk. Feeling certain of what was surely next to come, he typed out in advance. "Ok, this conversation is over."

But instead he read "Is it unusual for the soldiers to not contact home very often?"

As soon as he saw this, he quickly erased his reply and instead typed "How long has it been since you heard from him?"

"A couple of weeks." Nottafinger replied.

"That is not so unusual. He might be on maneuvers or something?" he answered and waited for a response.

"I know, but he used to be very good at contacting me. But now I hardly hear from him at all. The military would tell me if he was hurt right?"

"Yes, you would have heard from casualty if he had been injured" Ryan replied hoping this would calm the woman's nerves. "So it sounds like he is safe?"

"I thought casualty only contacted you when the service member was dead?" she asked.

"No, they also contact you if the service member is injured badly enough for evacuation" Ryan said, but then added, "I'm sure your husband is fine."

"I hope so" Nottafinger said.

"What? You're talking to one of the experts. We got it all under control over here" Ryan lied and then added "In a few months your husband will be safe and at home. So keep up the faith. We all need it..."

That last part of his statement was the most honest thing he'd said in several months. It made him feel bad inside to have to acknowledge that. After nine months in country, he had seen some hairy shit. The kinds of things he swore he would never repeat to another human being for as long as he lived. The kinds of things that often woke him up out of a deep sleep. The kinds of things he was too horrified and ashamed to admit even went down. The kinds of things that no one else could possibly understand, unless they'd been there.

"I'm trying" Nottafinger typed back.

Ryan had to reread what he had written before her last comment to get back on track with the conversation. After he had, he typed: "Make yourself if you have to. Be strong not just for yourself, but for him also."

"I will" Nottafinger promised.

"I'm going to hold you to that...lol" Ryan threatened teasingly.

"Okay" Nottafinger typed back.

"Well, my time is almost up" Ryan typed in after he looked up at the clock on the wall.

"It was a pleasure talking to you."

"It was a pleasure talking to you also red64mstg." Nottafinger typed back then asked quickly: "How did you come up with your screen name?"

"After the car I want. A 1964 ½ candy apple red Mustang. I'm going to get one after this tour I hope?" Ryan smiled wistfully at the screen and typed. "How about yours?"

"Huh?" Nottafinger asked.

"Your screen name" Ryan clarified.

"Have you ever seen that movie A Christmas Story?" She asked.

"Hundreds of times" Ryan replied.

"My favorite line in that whole movie is when the father says to Ralphie's mother after she broke the leg lamp, NOT A FINGER, before he goes storming out of the house with the lamp under one arm, hence... " Nottafinger replied by way of explanation.

Ryan let out a loud laugh at that one and replied. "That's great! I love it!"

"lol..." Nottafinger said back.

"Again Nottafinger, enjoyed the conversation. Hope to catch you again on the net sometime" Ryan said and looked up at the clock once more.

"Same here, I'll look for you the next time I'm on" she replied.

"That's a deal!" Ryan said then signed out with less than a minute to spare. "It's all yours buddy" he said to the man standing behind him as he stood up from the chair. Before walking out of the dayroom, he went to the desk to cross his name off the list. As he walked out of the building, he saw Gibb standing in line at a latrine and walked over to him.

"You talk to her?" Gibb asked when he noticed Hawthorne walking up to him.

"No." he answered. "But got her Dear, John so I guess that took care of that?"

"I'm sorry" Gibb said as he looked sympathetically at his friend, and then asked:

"Are you alright?"

"Ain't nothin' but a thing" Ryan replied and gave Gibb a playful punch to the shoulder.

"That's my man" Gibb said feeling reassured at his friend's emotional state.

As Ryan wandered back to his conex he thought about the days events and wondered why he didn't feel bad? Except for the short conversation he had had on the net with that total stranger, the day had been a pretty bad one.

But then most days were here. Either the mind numbing boredom got to you, or the intense struggle to stay alive when things-went-bad did its number. Never on an even keel, always extremes in either direction. Not only was the climate extreme in this cat box of a nation, but also the ruthlessness.

Ryan could remember many times being scared when he first arrived the second time around. His CO hadn't kidded them. "Expect casualties" is what he said when he addressed his men shortly before their deployment. They had not even received those kinds of warnings when they were about to be sent off to war. But this time was different - and they all knew it...

Peacekeeping was messy anyway you cut it. Didn't make much sense in most soldiers’ minds either. If the mission was accomplished, then why were more dying now than before? Ryan was in country for two months after the war had officially ended. He remembered how unsettling everything around him was. He even thought back to a quote he once gave to a man at the local VFW while having a friendly drink shortly after his return to the world. This man was a Vietnam vet, and when this vet asked how things were over there, Ryan simply replied: "After the war ended...that's when things got spooky..."

There was also one other thing that struck him strangely, as he thought back on this conversation. After Ryan replied to him, the vet just smiled and toasted his glass, then finished his drink quickly and walked out of the bar without even so much as a goodbye.

At the time Ryan Hawthorne hadn't even thought about the oddity of what had transpired. But now it was clear as a whistle. Even though each man had fought in two different wars, they were still tied by the same awareness. That awareness was, that they were still tied up in a conflict that could not be resolved. Understanding this realization did little to appease him. In fact, it only made it worse.

When Ryan got back to his conex, he closed the door behind him and turned up the air conditioning full throttle. As he took off his uniform blouse and brown t-shirt he was able to inspect the injury he'd received earlier that day. A nice clean one-inch long cut just below the right rib. At the time he received it, he had not even known he had gotten it. In the heat of the battle with unknown insurgents, trivial things like cuts usually went unnoticed, until someone bothered to point them out. This time it was a medic as Ryan was helping another soldier get the wounded onto a truck. Wanting to get Ryan in the back of the humvee as well - after he refused treatment - the medic handed him a big wad of gauze and some surgical tape and told him to cover the cut quickly.

Ryan guessed seven hours was enough. Lying back in his cot he closed his eyes and tried to take a little nap. However, he soon discovered that was not going to happen. Between the infernal racket of the only thing standing between him and the hundred and twenty degree heat, the snowball in hell, as he affectionately dubbed the air conditioner, and the constant barrage of trucks that rolled in and out of the camp at all hours of the day and night, sleep was a joke. He couldn't be too hard on those troops in the trucks however; they'd pulled his butt out of a sling or two, he thought, as he gave Snowball-in-Hell a quick slap!

With the high-pitched rattle muffled just a little, he closed his eyes and thought about home. It seemed like now all he had was his thoughts. North Fork Indiana, on his parents’ farm, that was where Ryan went to visit just before this deployment to Iraq. He laughed when he recalled how in early May, when the temperature was beginning to spike ninety degrees, how his mother complained about the stifling heat. He thought about how if it got down to ninety degrees around here, he might be tempted to put on a jacket!

Ryan also thought about a conversation he'd had with his father.

"So how do you feel about going back?" his father asked as he and Ryan both worked on a tractor that was broken down in the field.

"Not much to think about." Ryan modestly answered and he struggled to loosen a bolt.

His father did not say anything, but he could tell what he was thinking.

"Dad," he said as he placed the wrench down on the fender, "I know you don't like the idea of me returning. But it's the job I signed up for."

And Ryan looked at him intently, wishing this man who normally said very little, would open up with some sort of insightful dialog.

"What's done is done" was all his father could muster.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Ryan asked sounding annoyed.

"Nothing" Gary Hawthorne said and picked up the wrench to continue loosening the bolt.

Feeling he might not have very many chances to have a meaningful conversation with his father again - Iraq might very well take care of that - he decided to press harder and make his father talk to him.

"Why won't you just tell me what you really think?" he asked pitifully and waited for a reply.

"Because it wouldn't change anything" Gary answered numbly.

"Is this about my reenlisting?" Ryan humbly asked.

But his father would not answer - Instead choosing to work in silence.

"Dad, talk to me! You haven't said hardly a word to me since I got back" he pleaded, and continued: "Why do you always have to shut me out? I'm a grown man now. Jesus!" he shouted. "You give the postman more acknowledgment then you do your own son!"

As he began to realize that his pleads had once again fallen on deaf ears he slowly began to back away from the tractor. He felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he quietly asked: "You hate me don't you?"

"I don't understand why you had to sign up again" his father slowly looked up and answered.

"Because I wanted you to be proud of me" Ryan replied.

"You sure picked a funny way of going about it" Gary Hawthorne said and went back to his work.

"No, this isn't over!" Ryan stomped back toward him, half crying out. "Dad, put down those tools and look at me."

Gary put down the wrench and looked back up at his son with noted contempt.

"You're not going to throw this back into my face" he said with stinging venom. "Do you know what this is doing to your mother?"

"Yes, yes… I do Dad. Unlike you and me, we've talked."

"Then how could you? You did your time… Why sign up again?" Gary threw his hat down on the tractor. "You have money for college. You didn't have to come back here and be a good for nothing farmer."

"Is that what you think I think of you?" Ryan asked as tears rolled down his sweaty face.

"The army sure got you far away from here" Gary answered and bent down to pick up his hat. "If you wanted to get yourself killed, you sure picked a fine way of accomplishing it!"

"I'm not going to die Dad" Ryan said as he wiped off his cheek and walked up closer to his father, taking the tool out of his hand, he promised: "I won't die for my country. I'll make the other guy die for his." And started to turn the bolt again.

Now he wished he had spent more time talking with his father. Then perhaps his life would not have turned out like this. He only hoped now that he had made a promise he could keep. Shooting back at insurgents, and guarding precious oil wells was what occupied his time now. For a fraction of what the private contractors make.

If he made it through this enlistment, he vowed he'd never do it again. If he was lucky, he would have only one more tour to do and that would be it. Then bye-bye to the army and hello civilian life. That is, after he paused long enough to lace his boots together and throw them over the nearest telephone wire.