This story is a continuation of Anytime I Hear That Song but can stand alone. If you want to get more back story I suggest reading that story first. There isn't a lot of sex in this one if that's what you're looking for read the first one. It may be a little long but I hope you enjoy it anyway. As always, any and all comments are welcome
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I woke up screaming, propped up on my elbows in my bed, sweat pouring off my face and chest. Once I stopped screaming, my breath heaved in and out, my rapid heartbeats were pounding in my ears. I was disoriented. I looked around the dark room. I could make out shapes, mostly rectangular, dark against the slightly lighter walls. Where was I??
The door to the room opened and the light came on. I squinted as I heard my mom's voice say, "It's alright Kurt honey, you're safe at home." Her voice was reassuring, it calmed me down, at least a little.
"That dream again honey?" She said, more as a statement than a question.
"Yeah."
"Do you want another pill?" She asked.
"What time is it?" I asked. If it was still early enough I'd say yes but if it was getting close to morning I'd refuse, wanting to be sharp for my 10:00 appointment.
"It's a little after 4:00" She told me.
"No, I'd better not. Those things leave me out of it for hours after I take them."
She had been talking about my diazepam pills, they help with my anxiety and sleeplessness. I would do without this morning. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist. After that I wanted to stop by Abbott's Grocery. I hadn't seen the old man since he stopped by my parent's house soon after I got back. After that I would go to my afternoon physical therapy session.
"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" She asked.
"Yeah, I'd better, otherwise I might wake up needing to go bad and not make it." I told her.
She wheeled my chair closer to the side of the bed. I swung what was left of my legs over to the edge of the bed and climbed/heaved myself into the wheelchair. I was getting pretty good at that. It helped that I still had good upper body strength, I wheeled myself into the bathroom and transitioned myself to the toilet. I relieved the pressure in my bladder and then transferred back to the chair. I washed my hands and rolled back through the doorway into my room.
"My room" I should say to my Dad's den. My original room had become my mom's hobby room. This room worked out best for the structural alterations needed to maneuver a wheelchair around in the late 1940's home. It was closer to the bathroom also.
I had apologized to my Dad for appropriating his "Man Cave" but he just said, "I'm glad to have you here..." I heard the unspoken word in my head, "alive". I was the sole survivor of the RPG that hit our helicopter. I lost all of my "brothers" that night. It still hurt to think on it. That hurt will never go away.
I climbed back into bed. An odd expression, "climbed into bed" I'm sure I said it often before, now it was literal. I had to climb back into bed. My life would never be the same.
I probably should have taken the pill my mom had offered, I tossed and turned trying to get back to sleep. I couldn't get the images out of my head of that night in Afghanistan. The images kept replaying in my head, over and over.
We were on a night mission to an area along the Afghan/Pakistan border. This was our drop zone for dozens of missions in that area. It allowed us easy access to both countries. Like I said, dozens of times. I think that was our operational error. They were waiting for us. As the helicopter was approaching the drop zone we were readying ourselves to repel down our lines. Jak (Ed Jakowski) was beside me. We were to be the first out the door. We were leaning backwards out the helicopter holding our lines, ready to jump and release down to the ground.
The pilot was just about to hover when I heard from the other side of the bird, "Incoming!" A second later I felt the blast and something hit my legs. I was blown out of the copter, the cord zipping through my hands. I must have had a tight grip on the line because as I flew through the air my hands were being torn up, even through the gloves. I remember slamming into the ground on my back, all the wind was knocked out of me. I recovered seconds later gasping for air. "Oh Shit" I thought.
The bird was down on the ground in pieces, fire blazing. I could see the wreckage, anyone left on the chopper was most certainly dead. Did any of my brothers-in-arms survive?
I was in shock. Sometimes when you are in shock your brain just takes over in logical mode. That's the best way to describe what happened next. My training took over, my brain went on auto pilot. Without thinking I surveyed the situation. The chopper was down, more than likely all were killed but I had made it out, maybe others did too. I looked out from the brush I had fallen into. About 5 feet away was Jak or what was left of him. He was missing a quarter of his body, everything from the collar bone on his left side to about 5 inches below what should have been where his armpit was on his right.. His head and one shoulder were gone.
It was a clean cut so something sharp had quickly sliced through him. I couldn't believe it. Jak was my best friend in the Corps. We were all friends in our unit but Jak was the best. I continued to process that as I took stock of my situation.
I was pretty dinged up, shrapnel wounds everywhere but where my flak jacket was. Blood was oozing from above my right eye and my left cheek. I had a hard time time focusing on my on body. I couldn't see my feet, in fact I couldn't see my knees. Then I saw the blood. I had to stop the blood. I needed a tourniquet. I pulled off my belt and cinched it around my right leg. That one looked like it was bleeding the most.
I needed another tourniquet. I looked at Jak's body. I needed his belt. I pulled myself over while I lay on the ground. My back was killing me, I knew I had broken something. I reached out, as I lifted my head I started to get dizzy. I laid my head back down and stretched for Jak's body. I grabbed his belt and struggled to unbuckle it and finally pulled it out and cinched it on my left leg. I then laid my head back trying to think. What was I going to do?
I thought to myself, "Whoever shot that bird down is going to come looking at the wreckage for survivors. Prisoner exchange was a lucrative business. I felt my side, my baretta was still there. I unbuckled it and took it out, grabbing my silencer also. If I was going to have to kill someone I didn't want to give away my position with a loud gunshot.
I spun the silencer on the gun, lay there waiting, listening to the sounds around me. The copter was still burning. I turned my head to the side and watched for any silhouettes around the chopper. After what seemed like an hour I saw two human shapes walk around the copter. They had rifles in their hands. One of them shot at something on the ground but I neither saw nor heard anything that made me believe they had shot anyone that was alive. I'm sure it was one of my brothers that was already dead. They just wanted to make sure.
I watched as they searched. I made no movement. Jak and I had fallen from the chopper and were about 20 yards away, we were in the shadows. Their pupils would be so small from the bright flames they would never see us. They had to think that our bird had a tracker on it and when it went dead there would be search planes scrambled to our last coordinates. They had maybe 20 minutes before recon planes buzzed the wreckage.
They started searching in wider circles. I had only seen two but there could be more. They split up, one coming our way. I lay still in the brush. I had to time this right and kill him on the first shot. I couldn't wound him and have him shoot me or alert the other one.
As he approached I went through in my head the process of lifting the gun, pointing, and shooting all as one motion. I saw it over and over in my mind. My brain would take action and repeat the process with the gun in my hand. The only unknown was how my sore hand would affect the process.
The silhouette approached. I waited until he was about 10 feet way and let my brain do its job. It told my hand and arm to move, point, and shoot all in one motion. I hit him center mass. He was stunned for a second and then crumpled to the ground. I saw his face -- he was a boy, only about 17.
I waited and listened. I heard nothing for about 2 minutes, then I heard the other man call out to his buddy. Of course he got no response. I heard him call again, more urgently now, still no response.
Fear makes people dangerous and unpredictable. He was hurrying now, his gun up and ready to shoot the first thing that moved. He was calling loudly now, desperately. He was calling out, "Abdul, Abdul!" He started to sound frantic. I could only guess but I think he was his father.
He saw his son and ran toward him, disregarding all the possible dangers that could be out there. "Abdul, Abdul!"
I pointed and shot center mass. He crumpled to the ground. I had mixed feelings. I shot a boy and his father, but I had avenged my brothers.
I laid my head back down and prayed, "God, I'm sorry, please save me."
The next thing I remember is waking up, lying in a hospital bed. I had awoken because I felt hands upon my body. A nurse was giving me a sponge bath and my body was responding to the effects. She noticed this and looked up at my face. She saw my eyes were open. She said, "Welcome back sleepy head." Then she went and called for the doctor.
Before my doctor came in my Mom and Dad came in the room. "Oh Kurt, we're so glad you're awake. You had us worried." My Mom said. Then the doctor came in the room followed by the pretty nurse with the soft hands.
I was disoriented and not sure where I was at. I couldn't talk, I had a tube down my throat. The doctor said, "Hello Mr. Redwing, my name is Dr. Schmidt. You are in a hospital in Germany. You have been in a drug induced coma for the last two weeks so that your body could heal without you thrashing around. You have a feeding tube in and we will have that removed here in just a bit. Before we do I want to go over your injuries and check you out. You have lost both your legs above the knee, broke your back, had massive internal organ bruising, a severe concussion and a number of cuts including a diagonal cut across your face from the forehead above your right eye across the bridge of your nose, down your cheek to your jaw."
"Wow, I'm a mess." I thought to myself. I had so many questions.
"I know you have a lot of questions." My doctor said, he must be a mind reader. "I've been here for 15 years and have seen many patients in worse shape than you. They all had questions. You'll get a chance to ask and hopefully get the answers to all of them."
I relaxed and soon another nurse came in to remove the feeding tube. "No, don't try to talk, you need to drink a little first and then don't overwork your throat by trying to talk normally. I want you to whisper. I'll hear you. You'd be surprised what I can hear." She pulled the tube and my throat was raw.
I whispered to her the question that I had. "Did anyone else survive?"
"Soldier, I don't know the answer to that, but I will have someone that knows come and talk to you."
