I strained to open my eyes on the smoke-filled helicopter, just hoping to see my little brother smiling at me like he always does. I can’t stop thinking about those great big cheese eating smiles we both exchanged with each other during our many fight scenes in the real movie we call COMBAT. My short daydream is interrupted every time the bird shakes and shutters trying to escape the enemy’s relentless gun fire.   At a mere glimpse, I see his lifeless body begin to move, but I sense it is probably from the vibrations of the helicopter trying to gain its needed altitude.  I hope he is still here, but deep in the pits of my soul, I believe he has quit on me.  I am overwhelmed with the armed conflict between my many emotions.  I start off angry, then sad, and finally infuriated.  At this moment, I want anyone and everyone to pay for changing my comrade’s existence.  It was ultimately my responsibility to keep my friend’s life safe.   After all it was me that promised that I would bring him back home unharmed.  How do I explain to his wife?  How do I tell his mother?  Dam, how do I look in the eyes of a smaller version of him and tell his little boy that he’s not coming back? Or why he will not be there at all of his many birthdays and graduations?  Why is he absent from celebrating a night on the town with his favorite girl during their wedding anniversary?   Why he will never play another practical joke on our team.  Why his family won’t every see him grinning in any future family pictures?  But more importantly, why isn’t he here, right beside me.  Why isn’t he stepping off the airplane with me like we have after all seven of our deployments?   It would have made it so much easier if it had been me.  WHY NOT ME?  I don't want this kind of responsibility.   WHY WASN’T IT ME?