<span style="color: #0040FF"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Samuel Richard Johnson</span></div><br/><div style="text-align: center;">Sergeant Johnson; Sammy</div></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://covermenmag.com/niklasnilsson/pixInt/h.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/>Sam mindlessly followed whatever orders Tom gave him,<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #0040FF">"It doesn't look good, Major..."</span></span>Sam finally said after a moment of silence. He couldn't just keep quiet about it anymore. He needed to talk about it, to ease the tension in him. The military had trained him to keep going, keep moving, don't stop to consider anything--just do what needs to be done. But they had never trained Sam what to do when something happened to someone you cared about, when it was someone who meant so much to you.<br/><br/>They followed the device's advice and Sam wondered what was going through Tom's head. He seemed so determined, but stressed. He could hardly keep up with Tom's stride.<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #0040FF"> "What are we gonna do if...."</span></span>Sam didn't finish his words, he couldn't. There wasn't a way for him to without it feeling more real--and he didn't want it to feel anymore real than it already was.