I was walking with like four or five Afghanis. Waheedullah, Aqmhedzia, Sahim, Ali, and Jon. We were carrying something and Waheedullah was joking. I looked back and laughed. Uh, Wally let out a grunt and looked up. My face went still and I listened. The distinct sound of a rocket was coming into our ears rapidly. Then boom a bunker about 200 yrds away crumbled. The concrete making a grave for whoever was left inside. I looked back and the Afghanis are gone, and it's just me. I get in the bunker and wait. Fear builds and I don't want to die. In the darkness I look for god, but I don't think he is there, and even if he is I don't think he will intervine. I don't have my helmet, flak vest, or weapon, I feel naked sitting there exposed. My ears catch the boom in the distance and I get tense. I start to hear the piercing terrifying wooooooooo of the rocket as it is coming down on top of me. Suddenly the electronic noise of my alarmclock breaks in and I wake up. I hate dreaming about that shit. It's nothing really horrible and it's actually good to see some of the people I met but it always ends in rockets. It's been almost two years since I got back and I still have these god damn dreams. I hate war.