A/N: Sorry this chapter's a little choppy. Unfortunately, this was the easiest way to do it. PS: Character death. I don't own John Lennon.

Chapter 8—Died, On the Field Of Honor

Foreman loaded his M-16 and left the hooch, the last one to assemble into the neat formation of men standing in the courtyard at their little seaside base. Pathetic, he thought, my own men assembled before I did.

"Where are we headed?" Taub asked when Foreman stopped beside him.

"The border," Foreman said. Taub fought the bile rising in his throat at the thought of going to the border, the front line. He was grateful that he'd had the sense to write his family the night before.

"You're kidding," Chase interjected, adjusting the M-60 on his shoulders. He'd had the gun for a little over eight months, since House had left, but it still bore down on him. It crushed him. In the last month alone, he'd managed to kill more men with that gun than the rest of the squad combined. "I have fourteen days left here, and we're going to the damn border?"

"Move out!"

The squad lurched forward at a quick march. They weren't far from the border between North and South Vietnam. It would only be a half-day's march before they were in the thick of the fight. Behind Chase, a new Marine stopped to throw up.

*~*~*~*

"Why the hell did you think this would be a good idea?" House snapped. "A peace rally? What the hell, Wilson?"

Wilson pushed his hair away from his face. "I said you didn't have to come with me."

"Like I had anything better to do. Normally, when vets 'go out for the day', they go to a bar. Somewhere interesting. They don't hang out with a bunch of stinky peaceniks, especially when—"

House was cut off by a wave of protesters. He and Wilson found themselves swept into the mass of people and grasped hands so they wouldn't be forcibly separated. Up ahead, House could see an arrangement of fire hoses. Suddenly, Wilson's reasoning made sense. They were only walking. They were walking away from what had killed his brother.

*~*~*~*

"They're advancing!" Foreman barked, "we have to pull back!"

"We're fine," Taub countered, trying not to let his words drown in the conversation between his M-16 and the Vietnamese guns.

"You're taking over if I'm dead!"

Taub ceased fire and threw a grenade. "Get Chase and that new guy up on their flank! Another squad's coming in to help out!"

Foreman ordered Chase and his new companion to advance. Soon enough, a group of muddy, disgruntled hill Marines arrived, carrying mortars and recoilless rifles. For the time being, they were saved.

*~*~*~*

"I still think this was a crappy idea," House protested. They had made it past the crowd-control volunteers with fire hoses and were almost at the White House gates. Armed National Guardsmen lined the sidewalk, ready to fire at the slightest sign of non-peaceful protest. A group of boys were walking in front of them, pushing daisies stem-first down the barrels of their rifles. The young soldiers looked appalled, wondering why other boys their own age would do such a thing. Peace was beyond them.

"This won't work," House continued, tugging at Wilson's hand. He wanted to go home and watch TV. The heavy smells of pot and sweat were beginning to make him nauseous, and it was a far walk for a cripple.

"We have to try."

*~*~*~*

"They're still coming!" Chase cried, "Foreman! Do something!"

No answer reached Chase's ears. He fired the last of his ammunition into the advancing Vietnamese, eyes parking in terror when his tired gun finally stopped spitting bullets.

"Pull back!" Taub ordered. This time, Chase heard him. He gathered up his guns and the body of his fallen companion, threw a smoke and a frag, and fled.

"What happened?" Chase asked, running towards his squad. The medic took the corpse from his shoulders. "Why did we stop?"

"CO's dead," a new Marine said nonchalantly, "why else?"

Chase shoved the M-60 into the other man's hands and searched out Taub, He saw him at the front of the line, he saw Foreman's limp body hanging over his shoulders. Chase silently took Taub's rifles and they walked on in silence, the weight of Foreman's body crushing both of them into the ground.

*~*~*~*

House yanked open the door to the fridge, in search of beer to soothe his aching leg. The sound of thousands of people singing "Give Peace a Chance" still echoed in his head. He took out a can of beer and a slice of cold pizza and stared out the window, lost in though.

"Why are you still awake?" Wilson asked, wincing at the sudden light in the kitchen. It was three in the morning.

"Can't sleep," House said, "I can still hear those freaking hippies."

"Leave them alone," Wilson said, "at least they're being productive. What're you doing?"

"Realizing that none of this is going to stop that stupid war. The big-name whatevers are making way too much money out of this and they don't want to stop. Protesting is useless. Lennon and the peaceniks can sing all they want, but the president hates music. Seriously, send him a Beatles record. You'll get it back in pieces." House took a swig of beer. "I'm never doing that again, by the way. That asshole Guardsman beat me in the leg."

House—

I know it's normally Foreman who does the reporting, but he's dead. I'm stuck near the line with Chase and a bunch of recruits. The body comes back in 10 days. Help.

—Taub

House tossed the letter on the table. Stray thoughts roamed his head. Why would Taub want his help? Taub hated house, he hated fighting. He preferred to stay holed up in a tree, sniping where no one could see him. House looked at the date on the letter and went to the bedroom.

"Jimmy," House snapped, turning on the overhead lights. "Get up. We're going to Arlington."

"The hell?" Wilson said sleepily. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Arlington?"

"Yep. Get dressed, formal. We only have about five hours, so ditch the blow dryer and get your ass in the car."

House limped further into the room and tore into the closet. He hastily threw on his formal uniform and went to the car, keys in hand. Wilson followed a few minutes later, grumpy and silent, and backed out of the driveway. The entire car ride was spent in silence. House constantly checked his watch, not allowing Wilson to stop for anything.

"Slow down," Wilson wheezed, "you're supposed to be a cripple. This is a hill."

House, despite his leg, was moving faster than Wilson up the tall hill. The shining black horses were already leaving, towing their empty carriage; they had missed Foreman's burial and 21 gun salute.

"Damn it," House growled up on reaching the abandoned grave. "You just had to drive the speed limit."

"At least we're here," Wilson snapped. "I could've just said no."

"You know I would've driven down by myself."

"I wish you had. I'm going to go find Danny."

Wilson marched away in a huff and disappeared over another hill. House looked down at Foreman's headstone, thinking.

He was in the worst pain that he'd ever known. Vietnamese men stood in front of him, smoking and laughing at the sight of him. It gave a brand-new meaning to the word hell. He felt his flesh start to give way under the cool, bloody metal hooks. No. No. Not yet. His body had taken all it could, and he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood. The filthy cement was so cold. I'm going to die alone. Suddenly, the Vietnamese men collapsed in front of him. A black corporal that he barely knew, and treated like all shit, stood over him without a trace of blood on his tattered uniform. "You're going to be okay." The corporal's voice was so warm. He lost himself in the hasty embrace, the fall to the stretcher.

House yanked himself out of the memory. He touched Foreman's headstone once and looked around for Wilson. He didn't want to think about the day he had met Foreman; that day was shrouded in more pain that he'd ever felt. He saw Wilson standing in a cluster of graves about a hundred yards away and started walking.

"I'm going away for awhile," Danny said, "I'm going to 'Nam. Don't follow me unless you want to die."

"Moron," House mumbled, stopping next to Wilson. "You knew I was messing with you."

"Yeah," Wilson said, "but I still think you could be a little less of an ass. You woke me at five in the morning."

"Is this him?" House pointed to the tomb stone at Wilson's feet.

"It was."

"You know, if we'd stayed, we might be dead."

"No. Like you said, he was new. Didn't know how to stay down. That would've saved us and we could have saved him in the process."

"Unlikely. According to the CO who was stationed up there, it was a brutal attack."

"We'll call it a tie."

"Good. I'm hungry and you're buying me lunch."