The rain cold and steady, the water rising to their knees, but how Kiowa just laughed it off and said they should concentrate on better things. And so for a long while they'd talked about their families and hometowns.
He remembered switching on his flashlight, a stupid thing to do but he did it anyway, and he remembered Kiowa leaning in for a look at the picture - "Hey, she's cute,' he said.
He remembered the two mortar rounds hitting close by. Then a third, even closer, then off to his left he'd heard somebody scream. The voice was ragged and clotted up, but he knew instantly that it was Kiowa.
He remembered trying to crawl toward the screaming. No sense of direction, though, and the field seemed to suck him under, and everything was black and wet.
There was an arm and a wrist watch and part of a boot. There were bubbles where Kiowa's head should've been. He remembered grabbing the boot.
There were flares and mortar rounds, and the stink was everywhere --it was inside him, in his lungs-- and he could no longer tolerate it. Not here, he thought. Not like this. he released Kiowa's boot and watched it slide away.