For the loved ones who wait at vigil with hope that their beloveds will return safely.

And especially to those whose beloveds have given the ultimate sacrifice.

As always:

For Captain Tamara Long, USAF

Born: 12 May 1979

Died: 23 March 2003, Afghanistan

You fly with the angels now.

“I’d only do this for Mom, you know.”

Sergeant Eric Bergstresser adjusted the high collar of the Marine dress blues and shrugged his shoulders, again, trying to get the uniform to feel right. But since he spent most of his time in digi-cam or jeans, it never quite did.

“You’ve skipped out of it the last two visits, bro,” Joshua Bergstresser said, shrugging. Josh, just turned sixteen and decidedly civilian given the earring he was sporting, was wearing Dockers and a polo shirt, as dressed up as he was going to get for church. “Besides, you look good. You’re going to attract the ladies like flypaper. Maybe I should get a set of those.”

Eric winced and then shrugged.

“Don’t do it unless you’re sure,” Eric said, frowning. “As long as you’re not in my outfit, Mom probably won’t get two telegrams.”

“Not a good way to talk, bro,” Josh said. “You’ll be fine. Tell me you’ll be fine.”

“Ain’t gonna lie, bro,” Eric replied. “Not something I can talk about. But I will tell you that on my last mission, we went out with forty-one Marines and landed with five.”

“Are you serious?” Josh asked angrily. “That never made the news!”

“Yes, it did,” Eric said, one cheek twitching up in an ironic smile. “Thirty-six Marines killed in helicopter crash. News at Six.”

“That was out west somewhere,” Josh replied, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. “That was your unit? Eric, crashes, well…”