Author's note:
This is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed in this story are not real people. Any similarity between characters and organizations and real people is purely coincidental.
I welcome criticism. The LW group is a tough crowd. That's okay. But in the past, some have criticized my stories, citing the excessive length and level of detail provided. This is done purposely to fully develop the plot and the characters. If you are looking for a quick story with lots of sex to whack off to, or serious BTB revenge against cheating wives be warned...This does not meet that criteria. DO NOT READ THIS STORY BECAUSE IT WILL ONLY PISS YOU OFF!
This is a story in three parts; each part will be published separately. I will make every effort to publish stories several days after after the previous story gets posted.
Chapter 1
The desert morning dawned hot and arid, in stark contrast to the stinging cold of the night, only several hours before. The stench of charred cordite and desert death mingled in the air. Lance Corporal Rocco Pistiglione of the Bronx lay prostrate on the ground under the remains of his burned out Humvee. Out of nine members of his squad, only he and Gunnery Sergeant Tom Highway were still alive. The night before, Highway and his squad were sent as an advance Recon team on a road paralleling the Iraqi "Khawr Abd Allah" waterway. Their mission was to scout that roadway. They were to report any un-friendlies so that a larger force could traverse that route several hours later, protecting the flank of the Navy SEAL team that was scheduled to land the next morning. Scuttlebutt got around that a big battle was brewing, and the 15
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Marine Expeditionary Force was to play a key role. The mission, it was rumored, was to capture the heavily defended oil and gas platforms in the "Al-Faw" Peninsula.
Rocco's squad had been ambushed the night before. Someone gave their position away. He was sitting next to Private Percy Cooper in his Humvee when it was hit with an RPG. Cooper bought it instantly. Highway's vehicle was bringing up the rear. He took shrapnel in his leg and chest, but he was still alive. His vehicle took a direct hit almost at the same time. Those Marines who were walking the point got hit with devastating small arms fire. They went down very quickly.
Rocco caught shrapnel in the back part of his right thigh, just below his butt cheek. It could have been a lot worse. He lost quite a bit of blood, and he had been floating in and out of consciousness all night. But Rocco knew he'd make it. The rest of his platoon would be looking for them soon, and he and Highway would be "medevac'd" out. He thought, "Shit. Look at all this death around me. These poor bastards will never make it home. What the fuck am I doing here? But hey...By this time tomorrow, I could be in a comfortable bed in a naval hospital in Germany, flirting with all the nurses and eating steak. Relax Rocco, my boy," he said to himself. "We'll be out of here real soon. The Calvary is coming."
As he lay there in an almost dreamlike state, Rocco wrestled with his thoughts about how he came to be in this damnable Iraqi desert on this 19
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day of March in the year 2003. His memory drifted back to his high school graduation day in June of 1997.
"Saints preserve us, Rocco! You did WHAT, lad?"
Maureen Pistiglione, nee Thornton, from County Waterford, Ireland, fired the question at her son. She still had the slight twinges of her Irish brogue, even though she had been in America for nearly 25 years. It was quite the talk of her family when she married the Italian rookie New York City policeman, Dominick Pistiglione. A match made in heaven? Perhaps. When Maureen's Irish temper flared and the brogue thickened, Dominick smiled, even though she was mad at him. He liked a woman with guts. And she had guts in spades. In this marriage, the Italian and the Irish blended just fine.
Her fiery red hair matched her temper that day when she spoke with her son, as her bright green eyes bore into him.
"Mom. Look. After pop died last year, we knew there would be no way we could afford my college tuition. Joining the Marine reserves gives me an opportunity to add to my resume and finance my education all at the same time."
"After your father, God rest his saintly soul, was shot and killed by that bloody bastard who was trying to murder his wife, you go pull a stunt like this on me! I married a cop. Now I'll have a son who's a Marine and puts himself in harm's way just like his old man. Holy Saint Aidan, pray for me!"
"Mom. No need to worry. We're not going to war anytime soon, and besides, they won't call up the reserves unless things get out of hand. No way that's gonna happen."
Of course, no one had any way of predicting what would happen on September 11, 2001. In June 2001 Rocco had graduated from New Amsterdam University with a degree in Software Engineering, and was offered a pretty good job right after his college graduation. Then his reserve unit was activated. Soon after, he was deployed to Iraq.
He awoke with a start, coming back to the real world. "Jesus Christ," Rocco thought to himself. "It's getting hotter than hell out here. Those fuckers in the second platoon better get here fast." He tried to move over to see how Sergeant Highway was doing, but he found that his right leg wouldn't move, and he couldn't crawl over to his position. He stayed put. And then he noticed her about 100 yards out, through the wavy lines of the desert heat haze that was starting to build. He could barely make out a woman in a dark burka. But she was real and it looked like she had a purpose. As she got closer, he noticed she had an AK-47 slung over her shoulder. Rocco remembered that his AR-15 jammed during the firefight and he exhausted his supply of ammo for his M98 Beretta. He was left without a weapon before he passed out from the pain. At 50 yards out she noticed him, and began to stride more purposefully toward his position, the AK-47 now poised in her arms for action.
"Fuck! No weapon. This is it. I'm gonna buy it. What a fucked up way to die." Rocco suddenly realized that this woman was likely going to blow him to kingdom come. And then he remembered. While a cop on the streets of New York, his dad had what he called a back-up safety weapon. It was a little snub-nosed 38 caliber, also called a "Saturday Night Special," which he kept strapped around his ankle. When his dad died, Rocco took possession of the gun. He carried it with him wherever he went, even out on missions, though he couldn't imagine what good it would do. It was more of a talisman than anything else. It made him feel like his old man was protecting him.
At 10 yards out, the woman in the burka started laughing at him, and her steps toward him became more deliberate. Rocco reached for the 38 in his hip pocket. When she got up close to Rocco, she slid back the action on her gun and screamed something at him in a high-pitched tone in a language he couldn't understand. She pointed her rifle at his head and continued to scream, not yet ready to send Rocco into the afterlife. With one swift motion from his prone position on the ground, Rocco moved his arm up and fired the 38 between the woman's eyes. "Thanks pop," he thought. Then he passed out.
Rocco remembered being airlifted out of the desert, and he remembered the Corpsman hooking up an I.V. to his arm. Before they put him out, he saw that they also evacuated Sergeant Highway,who by that time was conscious. In his salty, gravelly voice, Highway said, "These fuckers can't kill me, son."
As soon as the needle pierced Rocco's flesh and entered his vein, he drifted off. The drugs took him to a place of happiness. Only six short months ago, before his deployment, he was with his fiancé, Page Connors, at the Lake House at "Lake Otswego" in upstate New York. The house, which his dad had bought when Rocco was a baby, held many happy childhood memories for him. But the time he spent with Page at the lake just before he shipped out was a mixture of passion and sadness all rolled into one. It seems that every day of that last week they alternated between making love, talking about their future, and getting depressed about his upcoming tour of duty.
He had met Page at New Amsterdam University. He was a senior; she was an incoming freshman. When they met, there was that instant connection that comes with young love. They spent that entire year falling in love. How to describe Page? One phrase does it: built like a brick shithouse. Perhaps the best way is to think of the actress Jennifer Love Hewitt. I don't like movie star comparisons myself, but in this case I can't think of any other description that would do her justice. Like Hewitt, Page was really stacked in all the right places, with just a little extra bodacious thickness around her hips, ass, and thighs. Her auburn hair, which she often had tied in a long pony tail, came down to just above her ass crack. Page was a walking wet dream; sex on a stick.
But it wasn't just a physical attraction. He thought there were genuine feelings between them. When he would take her out dancing, she would wear this slinky black dress with a slit on the right side. And, of course, the "come fuck me" open sandals with stiletto heels and ankle straps. Walking into a club with Page, he could actually see men drool. Rocco wasn't a bad looking guy, but with Page, he always felt that he was, how shall we say, punching above his weight class.
On the last day of their getaway at the lake, before he had to ship out, Rocco and Page went down to a deserted spot in a cove nestled between the house and the water's edge. Given that it was early June, the vacation season hadn't started yet. After they had a picnic lunch, Rocco turned to her. "You know that you're the most important thing to me, right?" He asked her.
"Yes Rocco. I love you so much. The thought of being away from you for seven months is driving me crazy. I don't know how I'll do it. But you know I'll wait for you, right? As long as it takes, I'll be here for you."
"Do you really want to wait for me, Page? I can't risk losing you. My world will fall apart. But if you don't think you can handle us being apart, please let me know now."
He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on her lips, never giving her a chance to answer. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the engagement ring he had bought before they left for the lake, and slipped it on her finger. Page felt the ring, broke the kiss, and told him again that she would wait as long as it takes for him to come back to her. She trembled, and tears of happiness started to flow.
Rocco removed her sandals and began to lick her feet. From her finely manicured toes, down her arch, and around her ankle, his tongue swirled. Slowly he made his way to her thighs before he reached up with both hands, hooked his thumbs under her panties, and yanked them down. He could smell the muskiness of her arousal as he dove in with his head and began running circles around her clit with his tongue.
"Fuck, Rocco! No one else could do that as good as you. I'll wait for your forever."
