quarter million dollars of u.s. army hardware rat-fucked by a coupla used toyotas. he grabs a fire extinguisher and aims it at flames flaring from a console of instruments.
you ever wish it'd been you?
won the medal. been the hero. something causes marco to hesitate. then, as if he'd rehearsed it:
major marco. marco turns, stares blankly into the eyes of the bedraggled- looking man, who half-salutes.
it's al melvin, sir. corporal melvin. from your unit. desert storm. marco stares hard. melvin looks like a homeless guy, his clothes rumpled, his fingernails stained and broken, his eyes wild with fatigue and paranoia.
i have these dreams, major.
yeah. kuwait. you and me. mavole, and baker. raymond shaw. see, i remember it happened the way you just said. and then i don't.
do you have dreams, sir?
not these. beat. marco stares at him.
it's bad, sir. it's making me crazy. i write it down, every night, after i wake up, i try to get it all -- it doesn't always go together -- all of what i can remember, and --
-- i've been to doctors! the notebook drops between them, and pages scatter on the floor. both men go down to collect them --
i'm so stuck, sir. i mean -- i remember shaw saving us, but it does not make sense -- it should have been you. and shaw, he --
i can't get my hand around it. i thought maybe, if you had the dreams .
no. no sir. self-conscious melvin shoves the notebook back inside his jacket.
i don't need your money.
go.