Nothing's Fair in Love or War

Author's Note: I wrote this on the train this morning for a first period English class, so unfortunately, it's a rush job. One thing that, after reading through it, I'd really like to fix is the title, so any suggestions for that would be much appreciated.

~

“One last lay is all I ever wanted...just one good fuck....”
“Hang in there, man, you’re going to make it!”
“Bullshit, Brian, I’m dying! Can someone get me a goddamn cigarette?!”

Go back five years. A younger version of Dan sits at his high school cafeteria lunch table. “I’m going to join the army!” he announces proudly to his friends.
“That’s fucked, man,” Sam tells him through a mouthful of food. “You’re going to fucking get yourself killed!” A bit of tuna salad falls from his mouth and he wipes it away with his sleeve.
“Nah, the twisted son of a bitch’ll be alright,” Jake says, smirking.
“It just makes sense, y’know?” Dan says, the grin on his face faltering. “I mean, they’ll pay for college for me and fuck, I mean, we ain’t fought a war in years!”
“Right on, man!” Jake says, slapping him on the back.

“Christ Almighty!” Dan screams. The initial shock is gone and the pain is back. “Give me the fucking drugs!” he cries through clenched teeth.
“I’m trying, man, you’ve got to hold still!” Brian tells over his cries. “Hold this! I can’t see a goddamn thing!” He passes Dave a flashlight.

Go back to the summer Dan enlists, five years earlier, so excited, he wears his new uniform everywhere he goes, three days straight until the smell is so bad that his mother washes it on her own. Several days later, he arrives on base. Basic training, while strenuous, “just felt right,” as he told his friends, sitting around the table at the local pool hall.
“That’s fucking great, man! When’re you done?”
“Two weeks and then...the free life!”

“Fuck!” Dan screams as he feels his leg. He looks at his hand and all he sees is blood.
“Hold his arm still for me, will you?” Brian tells Greg as he struggles with an IV line.
Greg hold his arm down and, sweating rather profusely now, Brian announces “I’m in!” He spikes a bag of saline and passes it to Greg to hold up.
“Transport ETA is 8 minutes,” Joe shouts. “D’you think he’s going to make it?!”

Go back to September. Passed out on the living room couch, Dan mumbles a bit in his sleep. Wondering what is disturbing him so, he hears a phone ring. “Fuck!” he swears, and throws a cushion at it.
Dan reaches for his pants and pats down the pockets. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lights one. The phone finally stops ringing and his answering machine picks up.
“Hey Dan! If you’re there, pick up the phone! Fuck, man, it’s Sam, pick up! Seriously, man!”
A cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Dan, clad in boxers and several days’ facial hair growth, stumbles over to the phone.
“Hey, Sam,” he says into the receiver. “It’s fucking 9:30 what do you want?!”
“Fuck, man!” he says, his voice panicked. “I...you...fucking Christ...just turn on the goddamn TV!”
“Alright, alright...one minute!” he says as he pulls the remote out from between the cushions of the couch.
“Dan? Are you there, man?” Sam asks, but Dan is speechless, staring wide-eyed at the television. “Dan?”

“Wake up, you son of a bitch! You’re not dead yet!”
Dan’s eyes shoot open and he gasps for air as Brian injects something into his arm. “Stay with me, Dan! Do you know where you are right now? Dan?”

Still staring speechless at the television, Dan places the phone on the table, paralyzed. He doesn’t know how much time has elapsed when the repeated image of a plane colliding with a building is finally interrupted by the phone.
Once again, the answering machine picks up. “This is an automated message from the United States military. You are expected to report to base by September 13th at 08:00 hours. That is an order. Failure to follow orders will result in criminal charges.”
The machine clicks off and Dan stares into the flames projected on the TV screen. With nothing else to do, he bellows, “FUCK!!!”

Everything was drowned out by the sound of the chopper overhead. A bright search light shined over the clearing....

Go back to the night before Dan was deployed. Piss drunk, he slurs across the bar, “All I want is one last lay, one great fuck before I die!”
“Dan,” Sam starts, but Dan is too busy nursing a drink.
Jake reaches for the drink, but Dan pulls back, spilling half a beer into his lap.
“Won’t anyone fuck me?” he slurs. “How about you, babe?”
Disgusted, the girl walks away. “Let’s get another round!” he announces to the bartender and slaps a $20 on the counter.
The bartender slides the bill back towards him. “You’ve had enough, man.”
“I just want one great lay....”

“On my count,” Brian tells the flight medics. “One...two...three!” Together, they lift Dan onto the stretcher.
“You’ll be alright, man!” Brian shouts to him as they load the helicopter. “Don’t give up, Dan! You’re going to make it!”

Go back six hours. Sitting in the back of the truck, his unit reads mail from home. Sam is engaged, the letter says. Laughing, he jokes, “The son of the bitch is getting married and I can’t even get laid!”
“No girl in her right mind would ever sleep with you, fucking ugly bastard!” Greg jokes and playfully punches his arm.
“Christ...that’s got to be what I miss most about home,” Joe reminisces. “Getting laid....”
“Not me! It’s gotta be the food!” jokes Dave.
“That’s cause you’re a fucking faggot,” Dan laughs.

“Stay with us, Dan!” a flight medic says.
“He’s losing too much blood! Get the mast pants!”
“Fuck...stay with us, soldier! Stay-”