Ok, so here goes my first-ever submission. Please be gentle with me.
So much of what follows is due to the efforts of my editor. S0rethr0at.
Part One
The darkness of night enfolded me. Clouds covered the sky; there was no starlight and no moon. It was black as a boot. Perfect.
In my ear, a voice whispered, "Move up for 100 meters to the front. Silent approach."
I checked my wrist compass, its dull glow just enough to confirm direction. I slowly started to move. The ground was a wet mixture of mud and rocks, and it made being quiet no easy task.
The voice in my ear whispered again, "Contact front! 20 meters."
I continued forward, my senses picking up even the slightest sound from loose equipment to the chatter in the trench ahead. And before I realized it, to be honest, I was slithering eel-like into a muddy trench. Screams and gunfire erupted all around, and as I got to my feet, a body came charging at me full tilt. With no time to shoot, all I could do was dodge.
I think my attacker must have been as surprised as me as he turned to raise a weapon. Too slow, I dived, grabbed him by the legs, and brought him down, dropping weapons that clattering to the ground.
I felt a glancing blow and then another as my attacker's arms, unencumbered, rained down blows on my head and shoulders. I grabbed his balls and squeezed as hard as I could, he screamed, and the blows stopped. A mixed blessing as the scream would surely bring others running. I grabbed my knife from my boot and lunged at his gut, the knife slid in easily through his cheap uniform, but he still screamed.
"Damnit, shut up, man." Drawing the knife back, I went for the kidney. Evidently, I missed as the guy heaved up and threw me off him. I managed to grab him by his hair and get an arm around his throat. But still, he was wriggling and screaming.
Cursing, I took the knife and worked the tip between his jaw and his ear and lunged with all my strength; the razor-sharp blade slid in. I pressed hard, and the blade continued its journey to cut the brain stem and spinal cord. Working the blade back and forth to make sure this time, I let his body drop.
I was covered in blood, mud, and shit, sweating like a bastard despite the cold night and blowing hard trying to get my breath. I found my weapon and cleaned my knife, returning it to my boot scabbard. I slowly became aware of another presence.
Darkness and silence enveloped me, soft hands stroked me, and a soft feminine voice was saying, "Tom, it's ok, I got you."
How could this be? I was in combat; how had this angel reached me? Dead; that had to be it. I am dead. And a sense of calm washed through my body. The voice, that angelic voice I remembered, belonged to my wife.
Oh, no. How can this be? I started to cry great wailing, desperate sobs of grief. Yet the arms still held me, the voice still spoke to me. Panic set in. What about the detachment. Rusty and Spot and Friday Tinks and Scubber, what about them? They don't seem to be here, so at least they can't be dead, can they?
At least I wasn't in pain. And then some odd happened, a blinding light came on and my daughters Alice and Lucy were bouncing on the bed, throwing their arms around me and crying, "Daddy! Daddy!"
Slowly I became aware. I was not in the freezing, muddy hell of the South Atlantic. But at home in Hertfordshire with my family. I started to cry again while Jess got the girls back to bed. I have these flashback nightmares occasionally now, and I cope with most things day-to-day.
My wife, Jess, is my rock. Without her, I am sure I would have committed suicide years ago. This is our story.
Until I met Jess, my other saving grace had been golf. I started playing as a kid and kept it up over the years slowly. I improved until by the age of 30, then I was down to scratch. It was golf that took me to the US, and although I was never going to be good enough to play on tour, I could get work in a pro shop giving lessons. Long story short, I ended up working for a hotel group in Palm Springs that owned several golf complexes.
The Golf complex I was working as a golf pro at, had a bar that I often went to, to relax. I walked into the bar feeling somewhat self-conscious. I had left the Royal Navy 7 years ago and immediately took a job offer in the US. With my only family being only my dad, life was fairly stable. I didn't have a great job in Palm Springs, but there were a lot worse. Walking around a golf course every day, teaching customers how to batter a small ball around a field more effectively, was certainly not a terrible way to make a living.
The tips made up the short fall in salary, and I got free accommodation and free food if I wanted the use of all of the clubs' facilities if I felt inclined to. I scraped together enough cash to buy an old mustang in decent nick. So, life was settled.
I called dad every week, and he seemed well enough and happy. I was about eight weeks into this life when I saw her. She was working in the bar; waitressing, and must have been new.
As I appraised the view, I mentally made notes. Height: about 5'8'', if reckoning figure: lean and fit. My God, was she fit. Legs the short skirt of the waitress uniform showed off: oh wow, just wow! Face and hair: a shining vision of loveliness.
Her beautiful almond-shaped eyes, olive complexion, and a wonderful cascade of hair, black as a raven's wing, were something to wonder about. That perfect hair fell down her back to lightly caress the most perfect ass I have ever seen.
A voice in my ear whispered, "Don't drool, son, it's rude."
"Who is she?" I asked Harlon, one of the wait staff.
"That is Miss Jessica Sanchez, boy, and if you are thinking of going there, beware, you'll get frostbite from her man."
I looked at him and asked, "How do you know?"
"Boy, I think every hot-blooded male within 50 miles has tried to get to know her, a good number of the women, too." He drawled in his soft South Carolina twang, sounding regretful, almost painful.
"How come I haven't seen her here before?"
"She been home to look after her sick pappa, I think."
"And?"
"Reckon he died. How come she's back here, I don't know for sure, though she won't talk to rednecks like me or no one else on staff for that matter."
My mind started working; she had to be hurting and presumably lonely. And that just should not be the case for someone as knock-out beautiful as Jessica Sanchez. I settled in a lounge chair at the back of the room to just observe.
The bar was busy, and Jessica Sanchez worked the room like a cat watching over her brood of kittens. This seemed to be her natural habitat. She smiled at the customers who spoke to her, especially the ones who were alone. If a customer got fresh with her, she put them down as efficiently as any warrior I had seen. That smile was her best weapon.
Eventually, she came my way. I started to sweat with nervousness, and my natural shyness charged into action, freezing my tongue. I knew I would just stammer like an idiot. This happened every time, every damn time, even after all I had been through, I couldn't talk to a girl without making myself look like an idiot. And now, heading straight for me, was the most incredible creature I had ever seen.
"Hi, Tom." I looked up, startled. "Err, H-Hi."
I stammered, "C-could I get a b-beer, please?"
