From here...
Now
"Juz fugin fug you an at no dig suggin whore! Fug all you fuggers! DICKS!"
And with that he was tossed unceremoniously from the Pump House by Max.
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Then
Michael Patrick Greaves was on another bender. His second this month. Most people, including his entire family chalked it up to his PTSD. After two tours to Afghanistan and one in Iraq everyone gave him a pass and a wide berth. His first tour was as a straight leg infantry man. Kicking in doors and gathering intelligence. He had worked with a couple of operators on one particular mission and was hooked. After a ton of paperwork, interviews, and months upon months of grueling courses and schools he was where he thought he wanted to be. As one of the top five in his class Michael requested and was assigned to JSOC. Joint Special Operations Command. He was on top of the world and his game. His dream job, connections halfway around the world, and a woman he cherished.
Jennifer had always been there for him. Through the moves, schools, late nights, deployments, and even the nightmares and flashbacks. She was his one constant. She was also the reason for his current condition. During his second tour Jennifer had visited home and eventually hooked-up with an old high school flame. She confessed everything to Michael a month after he returned from deployment. Michael spent the next six months in a booze fueled haze. Bar fights which led to arguments with team members that came to save his ass on more than one occasion. The constant bickering with family members. His mother had remarked once how it seemed that he purposely instigated arguments with her, his father, and brothers and sisters. Which of course sparked another argument with his mother.
After six months of inactivity his team was given the order to head to the 'Stan'. Camp Marmal, situated in the north of Afghanistan, looked like a slice of civility in an otherwise hostile environment. The camp was ran by the Bundeswehr, the German Federal Army and owned by the Afghan government. The International Security Assistance Force, or ISAF, used the base and there were multiple countries inside the wire. American soldiers were a common sight and no one paid them any special attention, so they were able to come and go as they needed.
On a particularly dreary, rainy day in early April his team was dispatched to meet a local sheep herder about 20 miles north of Marmal who was, by his accounts, being harassed by a group of men claiming to be affiliated with Al-queda. Since things were slow in the north, it was decided that they'd gather whatever intel they could and send it up the chain. Michael and the others arrived at the designated meeting place in 'company' SUV's but only found sheep.
"What the fuck, over?" Samuel, the team leader was the first to speak. Michael chuckled.
"Well, he is a sheep herder after all." Thomas and North just sat in the front surveying the area.
"Shut the fuck up, captain obvious. I don't know man. I don't like this shit one bit." Samuels radio crackled to life.
"Sam, this is Mark. What are we doing? Leaving, or should we interview the sheep?"
"I'm surrounded by smartasses." He keyed up his radio. "You go check out those trees in the middle of the field, then the top of that rise in the pasture. I want to know what's up there."
"On it." The SUV moved off.
"North, give me those binos." Samuel began surveying the mountains to their right.
"Mike, what do you think? Those mountains close enough for a clean shot?" Michael took the binos and looked the mountains over.
"I don't know Sam. Rain, a slight northerly wind, you'd have to be a hella shot to hit anything accurately today. And the 'spray and pray' method wouldn't work for them from that distance." Sam's radio piped up again.
"Sam, Mark. Nothing up here but air and grass brother."
"Rog-o, Mark. C'mon back down, we'll figure this out from here."
The other SUV came down and parked in front of Sam's. Mark, Sam, and Michael exited their vehicles and met at the hood of the second. Sam began to open up a map when the shit hit the fan. A man popped up from a well camouflaged hole in the ground and aimed an RPG at the first SUV. The three exposed men automatically went for weapons and cover. They heard the rocket, the explosion, and the screams from inside the first SUV. Ears ringing, Michael moved around to the rear of the second truck and opened fire on the lone man, killing him. Two more popped up and returned fire on the remaining SUV. 'They've watched Red Dawn' was Michaels only thought as he fired round after round trying to get a clear shot. Sam screamed, Mark was yelling something and Michael kept shooting. Everything became a blur. Moving in slow motion, fast forward, slow motion. Training and survival instinct took the place of rational thought. Somewhere in the distant conscious of his brain Michael realized that Thomas was yelling at him to get in while North was jamming Samuel into the back seat. Mark had somehow managed to get in the back of the SUV. As Michael jumped in the only open door they sped off. Thomas was driving like a man possessed and yelling into the radio. Something about 3 dead, 3 wounded, 1vic destroyed, ambush... Wait, 3 wounded? North leaned in and slammed a pressure bandage on Michaels shoulder just below the clavicle bone. That's when the realization, and pain hit him like a sledgehammer.
"Fuck! You heavy handed fucker! GOD DAMN THAT FUCKIN' HURTS!"
The pain was too intense as he passed out. Fast forward, waking up in front of the hospital on the Norwegian part of Marmal. Slow motion, lying on a gurney rolling down the hallway. Fast forward, doctors and nurses scrambling around. Slow motion, everyone in the room reassuring him. Everything was almost at a stop when he spotted a curvy ebony beauty walking toward him at a normal pace, smiling, friendly. Her skin tone like that of a penny, not well worn but not new either. She almost glowed. Automatically Michael began surveying her. The breasts, her hips, the wild mane of 4C hair. He thought to himself 'wild hair, don't care' and giggled. 'I must be doped up good.'
"It's not the drugs Michael. It's you. I have known you, and have been waiting to meet you our entire lives. We belong to one another. Always have, and always shall. We will meet again and I will explain most all to you. My name is Shait. Not THE Shait of course but named after her. Heal now my love and come to me later."
She touched his cheek... Fast forward, a doctor barking orders in German? No, Norwegian? He started fading out.
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Michael woke up with the worst headache he'd ever had in his life. Even the simple task of raising his head was excruciatingly painful. He was happy to see that Mark was in the bed next to him. That left Samuel. Where was he?
"Ah, I see someone is awake." Michael turned to look as best he could. Cute, short, blonde, and oh so obviously Norwegian judging by her accent.
"Headache, bad."
"That is to be expected after the trauma you had. Not to mention the amount of anesthesia it took to keep you down. I am actually surprised to see you awake after just two days."
"Sam, where's Sam?"
"I will bring you something for the pain."
"Where's Sam?" But she was already walking through the doorway. She returned several minutes later with a doctor in tow and a syringe in hand. She moved to the IV side of the bed as the Doctor skimmed his chart.
"Where is Sam?"
"According to this, your left lung had been punctured by the shrapnel. Your medic aspirated it saving your life. You Americans do good work."
"Where the FUCK is SAM!"
"The reason I even bring this up," the doctor continued, "is because you need to relax and rest. Give the injuries time to heal. If you continue, at this point, to insist on raising your voice, you will simply aggravate the injury. Your friend, Sam is alive. His injuries were, more complicated."
"Then why didn't she just say that? How much more complicated?"
"We can discuss that later. Just rest." The doc turned and left the room. Just like that. 'Some bedside manner.' Michael thought. He'd forgotten about the nurse until she spoke.
"This will help you sleep." Michael felt the sedative begin to kick in when a thought occurred to him.
"What shift does Shait work?"
"Who?"
"Shait, a nurse here?"
"I do not know the name. Sleep."
"Can't see Sam, don't know your own people, y'all are..." The sedative was too much. Everything went black.
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"Miiiiiichael. Michael, wake up and talk to me, pleeeeease." Michael seemed to recognize the utterly feminine, almost melodic sound. He had no clue how long he'd been out but the soft, pleasant voice roused him into a medically induced haze. Barely awake but not asleep either.
"Shait?" He opened his eyes as best he could and saw her standing next his bed, nude from head to feet. Almost perfect C cups and hips a man could hold on to. Her hand wrapped around his shaft and began stroking. Michael moaned. It had been months since a woman had touched him. But this, this was different somehow. More, intense?
"We should talk my love."
"You know, where I'm from we shake hands. This isn't conducive to talking."
"Good. In that case, you enjoy, I'll talk." She continued stroking his considerable length. At just under 10 inches long and 3 in girth, the only problem he ever had in the sack was being too rough.
