I was just in the middle of writing my third submission when I got stuck. Wrote this quickie for a bit of a break. I needed to unleash the inner cunt within me.
I haven't read that many stories here so if this isn't an original idea I apologise in advance. I unashamedly admit that my last story, 'Onslaught', was an amalgam of other's ideas with one new concept. i.e. The phone bullying. This one I have written from scratch and any resemblance to other stories, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Unlike my first two, this one does contain cheating but may not have as forgiving a main character. Absolutely no sex.
I have self-edited it several times and corrected grammar and syntax errors. If your spell checker picks up any errors, change the dictionary to English (UK) rather than English (US) and hopefully all the blue and red squiggles will disappear.
Once again, thanks to the Hermit for his wise counsel.
*****
Join the army. Travel the world. Meet lots of interesting people, then kill them.
With this joke, my best friend Simon talked me into joining the army. He'd been in two years already and said it was a great life. I even joined the same unit he was in, then volunteered for the same special duties outfit he'd joined. The training was gruelling but we helped each other through it.
Our outfit was based in a large regional centre and life was pretty stable. In fact we both fell in love and got married within a month of each other. Myself to a real cutie named Pam. By the time I'd done ten years' service, I'd been happily married for eight and begat two daughters I adored, Kate 7 and Melissa 5.
Unlike some army units, mine didn't move around. We did have to go out on jobs for periods of two days to two weeks but not that often. I was home at normal time about 300/365 days a year.
So life was as normal as can be. I had a wife I loved and a family I would gladly die for.
Then of course Osama Bin Dickhead did his thing and through some convoluted logic thing, Simon and I were invited to holiday in Iraq that year. It was rough parting from the family but that's what both Pam and I'd signed on for.
We did our job throughout the build-up and invasion and were quietly getting excited about going home. That was dashed when our mob were given a lecture by the regimental political officer. We were to stay and fight to maintain the peace.
Simon, ever the larrikin, couldn't help giving the politico a hard time.
"Sir, fighting for peace, isn't that a bit like screwing for virginity?"
It was cathartic to see a room full of burly soldiers laughing their heads off while the lecturer went a bright shade of pissed off.
Well, as history shows, the peace was more violent than the invasion. At least the enemy wore uniforms during the invasion. We lost more guys in that period than ever before. Our outfit was busier than most, deploying for up to four weeks at a time behind enemy lines before going back to base for two weeks. Well, I say enemy lines, no one could mark them on a map though.
No one could tell us when we were likely to go home. Every second night, when in base, I use Skype to talk to Pam, Kate and Mel. That way, at least, they won't have forgotten what I look like by the time I get back.
Three weeks into our latest mission the shit hit the fan. We were supposed to attack a base of about 100 bad guys but were greeted by about 1,000. There were only the 12 of us so we beat a hasty retreat. It was two days before the Blackhawks dared come in and get us. Only four of us could still walk and three were dead.
Worst of all, Simon, my life support system, had the tendons blown away at the back of his knee. Nothing fatal but his service career was over. He was flown back to a hospital in our home town with the other wounded while the rest of us were kept in country so we could be psychologically returned to a fit state to re-join the human race. It was obvious to all that we no longer had enough guys to keep going.
Cold military planners since the Romans have known that once a force loses more than 10% of its complement, morale takes a tumble. That's probably why whenever a Roman legion retreated from a fight, their own officers would kill every tenth man in a process called decimation. What bastards. Worked though. Roman legions didn't run from too many fights.
Seven days after returning from the mission from hell and nine months after deploying, I was sitting in the mess tent using my laptop to email one of the new widows of one of my guys. I'd been corresponding with all three of them since the army confirmed they'd been notified officially their husbands were dead. The army employed a whole bureaucracy to do this but we were a tight knit unit and I knew they would appreciate the personal touch. I knew them all. Unlike me they all lived on base. This third exchange was very difficult for me. With the first two, I'd been truthful when I said their husbands died quickly and well. This time I would have to lie. As the ranking officer in my platoon, I made sure all contact with these bereaved ladies went through me. If they were going to hear lies, then they were going to hear consistent lies, from me.
Suddenly that little Skype box came on the screen of my laptop. 'Kate Young is online'. Desperate for some human distraction from my emotionally draining task I dialled in. Within seconds the beautiful face of my eldest graced my screen. I could see she was sitting on the couch in our lounge with her laptop that she'd got last Christmas.
"Daddy", she squealed. That brought her sister over and soon I was talking to my two reasons to be and they were talking at me as fast as they could. Both at the same time of course. We chatted merrily for the next half an hour about school, their trip to the zoo that day and anything else that came into our heads. I could feel myself relaxing. The urge to strike out and kill something, anything, slowly receding.
I glanced at my watch and calculated that it was getting on for their bed time so I tried to wind up our chat.
"Where's your mum," I asked Mel. Katie had wandered off screen somewhere.
"Oh she's in the kitchen with Uncle Mick, mum's new friend. He went to the zoo with us today," said Mel.
My blood froze. Neither Pam nor I had a brother Mick. I fought the sudden sinking feeling. I'd seen this too many times to be anything like relaxed.
"How long has Uncle Mick been around," I asked with as much casualness as I could muster. Shit, I kill people for a living, I'm not a bloody actor.
"Since just after Easter daddy."
Fuck that was two months ago. The fact that Pam hadn't mentioned any new friend told me all I needed to know.
"Does mum see much of Uncle Mick? How often is he around?"
"Oh, he's around most days."
All of a sudden I heard Kate whispering from off screen. "Mel, you know mum doesn't want us to talk about Uncle Mick."
Suspicion became certainty. Rage started to build. Control pushed rage back with great difficulty.
"Kate, come on screen please," I barked.
Kate appeared looking uncomfortable.
"Kate, does Uncle Mick stay for sleepovers?"
"Yes daddy."
Shit, shit, shit, shit. With even greater difficulty I controlled the wild hatred that was in danger of consuming my being.
"So do you like Uncle Mick?"
Again, both girls started talking at once. It was impossible to listen to both at the same time. I did catch the words, "slimy", "he smacked me", "doesn't like us".
"Right, shush girls. Now Kate, you first."
"No daddy, we don't like him and he doesn't like us. He's mean to us when mum's not around. I think he hurts mum too. Sometimes I hear screams from her bedroom when he's having a sleepover."
