Fall Of A Hero

Author's note: This story is based on real life events that occurred to me. The names have all been changed to protect the innocent, and not so innocent. Some dramatization has been added to match the themes of this site, but otherwise I have tried to remain true to the original experience.

This story does not have a lot of sex for its length, but considering it is based on reality. . . Well, you'll see why as you read it.

For those coming to this story from my dear friend's, Dark_Brother, stories, I hope this answers some of your questions.

This wasn't easy to write, as it brings up a lot of hard memories, but I think I am stronger for having done it.

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Chapter 01

"Sergeant," I say, "I don't think that's a good idea. Our orders are to stay and guard this road." I've got a bad feeling about following my Staff Sergeant's orders. Nothing I can put my finger on, just a feeling of dread, and I usually follow my instincts.

"Sergeant Baker," (that's me, by the way), Staff Sergeant Anderson says with derision, "We have two gun trucks," (a gun truck is a HUMMV with either a .50 cal machine gun, or a MK-19 Grenade Launcher on top). "One can stay and watch the road, but we're only a couple miles from where that IED went off a couple nights ago. We're going to clear the route." (An IED is an Improvised Explosive Device, or roadside bomb.)

Looking up to the half-moon in the night sky, I don't like this idea. Don't get me wrong, I'm no coward, but orders are orders, and smarter people than Anderson gave us our commands.

"I'm going," Sergeant Barton, my best friend since third grade, pipes up, and I groan. The guy is a good soldier, but if I'm not around to look after him, he tends to get into trouble. If he's going, then I am too.

Anderson sneers at me, knowing what my choice will have to be now. I can't stand this guy! "Why don't you be the gunner?" He asks me. "Maybe holding such a big weapon won't make you such a pussy."

Alright, since I haven't mentioned it yet, I'd better let you know I'm a guy. Don't want anyone getting confused from the ignorant Staff Sergeant Anderson's statement.

Michael Barton knows how I feel about being the gunner. "Forget it, Prick, I'm gonna gun," he says, and then starts crawling into the back door, and pops his head out the top, behind the .50 cal. We've been friends long enough, that I've long ago gotten used to him calling me prick.

"Fine," Anderson says. "Then you can drive, Baker. I was afraid you'd end up shooting us anyway." I know he's just trying to get under my skin, but it's still working. "Garrett and Bertke, you're coming too. The rest of you stay and guard this road."

Stowing my M-16A4 rifle by the driver's seat, I start the diesel engine, and wait for everyone else to get situated.

* * *

"Wake up," a voice says next to me, and I rub my eyes to clear them of sleep. "We're landing."

"Thanks," I say to Specialist Garrett.

"Dreaming about the attack again?" he asks me, and I just nod, not wanting to think about that night. "You gonna talk to the VA about it, after you see your family?"

"No, I'm no wimp," I tell him. "I'll get over this on my own."

The ebony skinned man shakes his head, but looks past me out the windows, as we descend. Following his lead, a feeling of homesickness washes over me as I recognize the mountains surrounding the valley where my wife and daughters are waiting for me.

Despite not wanting to think about that night, I remember having a conversation with my friend, Michael.

"That's kind of perverted," I'd told him, after he revealed to me what he'd been working on so hard during his free time. We were standing in his half of the room, over his laptop.

"I know, but I don't think it's completely finished. I had to rush it, before coming out to this stinking country," he tells me, defensively.

"I don't mean that you are writing erotic stories," I informed him. "I'm referring to what's in them."

He grimaces at me, but I just chuckle. We've been friends long enough that I know I'll get away with the laugh.

The captain comes over the intercom, interrupting my thoughts and telling the stewardesses to strap in as we get closer to the airport. I pat the two letters in my pocket, both afraid of them, and reassured by them. The next few minutes seem to drag on forever, as we land, taxi to our gate, and then wait to deplane.

Conversely, the walk down the long hallway and out to baggage claim is over before I know it. Stepping out of the secure area, I can't hide the smile which breaks across my lips as my three women rush to greet me. My wife's blue eyes sparkle with tears of joy, after we've been separated for over a year. My legs are wrapped in small arms. Tears start to stream down my own cheeks, as I hug my family tight to me. I know I missed them, but until this moment, I really had no idea how much.

"We've missed you so much," Ashley, my seven year old daughter cries on my right leg.

"Don't ever leave again," Kally, my five year old daughter cries against my other leg.

My wife, Karrista, just cries happily. We don't want to let go of each other as the baggage comes out.

Suddenly, there's a loud noise behind me, and I dive for cover, tearing out of the arms holding me. It only takes a few seconds for me to realize that someone had just dropped their bags, and I feel foolish as I slowly stand back up, my heart still racing. Thankfully, I notice I wasn't the only one to take cover.

Unfortunately my wife and kids are looking at me with a concerned expression. I wonder what that must have looked like to them?

"Are you okay?" my wife asks in a whisper. I can't look at her right now, ashamed, and just nod.

Thankfully the mood lightens as we start talking about Ashley's grades, and Kally's first year in school. Karrista offers to drive, but I tell her I've been missing driving anything smaller and faster than an up-armored HUMMV.

"Are you sure, you don't want me to drive?" Karrista asks again, this time in fear, as I blow through an intersection. The light was more pink than red.

"Go VROOM VROOM, dad!" Kally cries from her car seat, excitedly. At least someone is enjoying this. I just wish the other cars wouldn't drive so close to me.

Don't they understand that it's dangerous to stop at a red light? Someone might pull up next to us, and shoot us.

I don't see the cop, until his lights are flashing in my rearview mirror. I only debate for a second on pulling over, then shake myself, as I realize what I've been doing.

I'm home, dammit. I'm safe. Why can't I act like it?

The cop returns a moment later with my license. "Are you part of the unit that just returned?"

Laughing weakly, I reply, "Yeah, just landed. Guess I'm not used to the safe streets yet."

"Well, I'm going to let you go with a warning, but under one condition: you let your wife drive."

"Yes, officer," I tell him thankfully.

"I like the way Daddy's driving," Kally claims, and Ashley tries to hush her.

"I have a brother that got back last year. I remember what he went through." The officer seems to debate with himself for a minute, before adding, "He got some really good help with the VA. You might want to get in touch with them."

"Thank you, officer," I tell him noncommittally.

"Thank you for your service," he says before turning and heading back to his car.

Karrista grips my thigh, after she gets in the driver's seat of our car, telling me that everything's okay.

But it's not. I'm home now. That broken down car on the side of the road isn't an IED. That van coming up on our left isn't speeding up to shoot at us. Why is my wife driving so

slow

?

We've got a long drive ahead of us, and as thankful as I am to be back with my family, I'm still feeling the effects of jetlag, so I take a nap.

* * *

"You really need to get the sand out of your pussy," Anderson says to me, as we fly down the deserted road. I ignore him, as I do every time I know I can get away with it. "I don't understand why you chose to be a soldier. You're a coward, Baker. You're lazy, and a detriment to this team." He continues in this vein, but I've heard it all before.

He considers me lazy, because during our training, on breaks, I choose to read, instead of socialize. Staff Sergeant Anderson is a butt-kisser of the highest caliber, and if you don't kiss his ass, then apparently you aren't worth shit.

I

AM

worth shit, though, and know it. Checking my speed, I see I'm doing a whopping fifty mph. Laugh if you will, but in a fully up-armored HUMMV driving on these crappy roads, that's pretty fast. There are almost more pot-holes than road, and the trip isn't a smooth one.

Despite knowing that he's just trying to get to me, and get me to say something that'll get me into trouble, I can feel my anger rising.

"I don't know how you made it through basic training, and I really don't understand why you chose to stay in after your initial enlistment. Hell, I tried to stop you from getting your E-5 rank, but you went over my head." Yeah, so that makes me smile. I know he'd been badmouthing me, so I went over him, and convinced the chain-of-command that I was worth promoting. That'd really pissed off my NCO, and was one more reason he always ragged on me.

The thing I really don't understand is: I've put in three different requests to be transferred to a different section, but Anderson has denied them. In truth, if it weren't for Michael, I probably would have lost it with this superior acting asshole.

"Look," I tell him, taking my eyes off the road for just a second, anger thick in my voice, "if I'm really that bad, then transfer me. I could be out of your hair in less than a week."

"I can't do that," he tells me, and I can just barely hear the note of laughter in his voice over the sound of the engine, as I gun the truck past some debris on the side of the road. "You're a danger to those around you, and I can't pass you on to anyone else."

Alright, that's a low blow, no matter how you look at it.

"You sonuffa—,"

"IED, IED, IE—" Michael Barton cuts me off, only to be cut off himself by a large explosion, and the world goes yellow.

* * *

"Jason!" Karrista yells, and I bolt upright, sweat streaming from my brow. I see we're pulled off to the side of the road, and I open the door just in time to lean out, and puke. The remains of my lunch from the plane paint the dirt on the side of the road, as tears stream down my face.

"Mom, is dad okay?" Ashley asks, while Kally cries her own tears.

"Honey, are you alright?" I can feel my wife rubbing my back, reassuringly, but I shake her off. I don't want to be touched right now.

Why am I still having this dream? That all happened months ago. Why can't I be stronger?

Wiping my mouth, I sit up, and suck in a deep breath.

"Honey. . .?"

"I'm fine," I snarl at her. Can't she see that? I'm no longer puking, so obviously I'm fine. I see the hurt look in her eyes and immediately regret my tone. "I'm sorry, babe. I guess I just ate something bad on the plane." Kally is still crying in the back, and I turn around to her, placing my hand on her leg. "Daddy's just a little sick, darling. I'll be better soon." I tell her. I just have to get stronger, I tell myself.

"Do we need to get you something for your stomach?" Karrista asks.

My first thought is to snap at her again. Why can't she just leave me alone? But I shake it off, and get my emotions under control. "No," I tell her, keeping my voice calm. "I think I got it all out."

We get back on the road, and I start talking to the girls about their friends, and about what their plans will be for summer break, starting in a couple weeks. We chat amiably until they decide to take a nap, by which time Kally has regained her good mood.

"I know what I plan on doing with you during summer break," Karrista tells me, reaching over and squeezing my manhood.

"Why wait?" I ask, smiling at her. Right now she reminds me of how she was when we first started dating. I grab her hand, and try to get it into my beltline.

She looks in the rearview mirror at our two sleeping daughters and then pulls her hand away and gives my crotch a light tap. "When we get home."

I know better than to argue. Over the last few years, her sex drive has almost entirely disappeared, while mine has remained the same. We used to screw three to four times a week, but before the deployment with my National Guard unit, it was down to once a month, when I was lucky.

"Were you dreaming about Michael?" she asks me, and I feel my mood turn sour again. She never liked my best friend, and I really don't feel like discussing him with her right now.

Turning to look outside, I let my mind wander as the terrain moves by.

"Oh, don't give me that," Michael had said. "You're just as much a pervert as I am."

"Maybe," I hedged, "but I'm not the one that watched hentai out in the open bays back in Indiana, and my fetishes aren't necessarily the same as yours."

"I'm not asking you to like them. I just want you to edit them, Prick." He got a bit defensive, and I knew to start taking him seriously. "Besides, I've hidden it all, since we came out here. You were the one that showed me how to do that."

"You realize the trouble either one of us could get into if we're caught with that on our laptops?" The concern was real. We were in one of those countries that outlawed any type of pornography. We both had some, but it was well hidden.

"Yeah, yeah. We're not likely to get caught, as long as we keep our mouths shut about it." I only grunted in response. "Look, it's all already written. We can't access the sites that I was posting to while here, but some people complained about errors, so when I repost this story, I want it as close to perfect as possible. I also want it to come out as I originally wanted it, instead of the shortened version."

"Why didn't you just finish it then?" I asked, and he gave me a look like I'm an idiot, and I answered my own question. "Because we were leaving for here, and you wanted an ending before we left."

My wife pulls into our driveway, and I help her carry our still snoozing kids into the house. She offers to help me carry my bags in, but I know she can't lift most of my duffle bags.

"You rearranged again, while I was gone," I accuse her teasingly, as I drop my bags in front of the closet. She's left me no room, having taken over my side of it.

"You weren't here to argue. Now, are you really going to complain about that right now, or will you come over here, and take advantage of the fact that our daughters are asleep?"

Grinning deeply, she already knows my answer, as I start stripping off my clothes. Giggling, she does the same, while I lock our door.

I won't pretend to be some well-endowed god, but it's been so long since I've been in the same room as a naked lady, and my wife does have a killer body, with her small waist, and child-bearing hips. Her once B-cup breasts, are now C-cups, and sag only slightly after two kids, and her nipples are already hard.

My rod is veritably hurting, it's swollen so much. Crawling up onto the bed, I kiss my lovely wife passionately. While our tongues entwine, I bring my right hand up to her left breast, and give it a gentle squeeze. I moan, not because she is doing anything for me, but just the fact that I have my hand on a breast (My favorite part of

any

woman), turns me on even more. I need to taste her nipple, and kiss my way down her neck and chest, until I can pull the rubbery tip between my teeth, and suck hard, making her moan, as her hands dig into my scalp.

"I've missed you," she whispers to me, lovingly.

I try to say the same, but it comes out more like, "Mffm mhm hmf."

I begin to kiss my way down her stomach, but she stops me.

"We don't have time for that," she informs me, and I groan. I love tasting my wife, but for some reason she hasn't let me do that very much in the last few years. I know her excuse is just that, but I don't push her.

Spitting into my hand, I rub it against her vulva, making sure she's wet enough. I slide halfway into her on the first stroke, and then am fully seated on the second. Missionary style isn't necessarily my favorite, but after a year of celibacy she feels exquisite!

She feels so good, wrapped around my rod, and I start to move my hips, while I nibble on her neck. I use my elbows to prop myself up, and use my hands to tweak her nipples.

"Mmm, you keep doing that, and I won't last long," she warns me, but it's been so long, that I can already feel my own climax building. I love my wife dearly, but when it comes to her orgasms, she's like a man. One and she's done.

I pick up my pace, and a moment before I start to shoot off deep inside her, I feel her vagina clamp down on me. We both strive to muffle our moans, as we crescendo together.

* * *

"IED, IED, IE—," Michael yells a moment before I feel the impact of the explosion.

The wheel is ripped out of my hands, as the entire vehicle is moved sideways from the explosion. It's odd; you hear about being in this situation from those that have been there, but until you actually live it yourself, you never really understand.

My ears are ringing, and I'm half blinded. There's a sharp pain in my right leg, and my whole body feels like it's been hit with a speeding truck.

Everything seems to happen all at once and yet in slow motion. I see Anderson yelling something, blood already running down the side of his face, but I can't hear what he's saying. Fear grips my insides like an icy fist to the stomach, as I see Michael Barton, face covered in burns and blood, lying unconscious next to me.

* * *

Karrista rolls over, as I sit up in bed, trying to rid my mind of that image. It won't leave though, and I clearly remember how badly he'd been torn up by that blast. I want to throw up, but walk out of the bedroom, my wife softly snoring behind me.

Booting up my laptop, I navigate to the hidden folder on my computer, and stare at the one marked 'Barton'.

Inside that folder is part of a hero's last wish. I know I should open it. I know I should do as my best friend asked, but I can't face his ghost right now.

Silently, I grab a pillow next to me, and soak it in tears, cursing myself for how weak I am.

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Chapter 02

"Mom, why is Daddy sleeping on the couch," I hear Kally ask my wife, and I come awake. Finally some sleep where I don't dream!

"Go play in your room," Karrista tells our youngest daughter. She turns and looks to me, hands on her hips. "So,

Daddy

. . . Why

are

you sleeping on the couch?" I know she's not mad at me, but neither is she happy.

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble at her, hoping she'll drop it.

She won't. "Jason, why won't you talk to me? I know something's bothering you. I'm your wife. Please open up to me. Is it the nightmares?"

Ignoring her, I walk into our room, and start getting dressed. How am I supposed to talk to her about what happened? She'd never understand. Even if she did, how could I dump that on her? My best friend, a man she couldn't stand, is dead. Literally died in my arms, and it's my fault. . .

* * *

"Michael!" I yell, but can't hear my own voice over the ringing in my ears. "No, no, no, no,

no

," I repeat, as I reach out to check his pulse. Where is it? Why is there so much blood?

There! Is that it? Yes, it's faint, but it's there.

A hand grips the front of my body armor, and turns me to face Staff Sergeant Anderson. He's still yelling at me, and I can just start to make out his voice, but not his words. I notice that his right arm isn't moving properly, but rip his left hand from my chest, as I try to open my door.