Chapter 1 My Hell

Knocking lightly on the door, she opened it slightly, letting some of the light from the hallway spill into the darkened room. The nurse quietly stepped into the room, trying not to disturb the patient. Suddenly, without warning, the water pitcher hit the wall beside her, drenching her.

I frantically searched the bed for my gun, my heart beating erratically. All the while, my eyes adjusted to the darkness, searching the room for the intruder. When I heard the squeal, I reached for the cord to turn on the light over my bed. I saw the nurse standing there, dripping wet, and my water pitcher was on the floor by her feet.

Neither of us said a word for a minute, then I barked, "Damn it, you are supposed to knock before you come into our rooms! Are you a damn idiot or some newbie that just graduated? Whatever you are, you have never worked around stressed-out, traumatized soldiers! You don't walk into their rooms unannounced, especially mine! Get your act together!"

"What is all the yelling all about?" The head floor nurse, Tanya, asked, "We have others trying to sleep," as she took in the scene before her.

"That dumb broad came into my room unannounced!"

Tanya sighed and looked at her nurse, waiting for her explanation.

"I did knock, but Sergeant Montgomery did not hear me."

"If you knocked, it was like a child's knock because I never sleep sound. That could get you killed. I know you are here to take my vitals, so do it and get the hell out of my room…both of you."

"I will get maintenance to clean up the mess. Lena, you go get changed, and I will take care of Sergeant Grumpy Pants,"

"How often do I have to tell you my name is Wyatt? I am no longer in the Army…especially with this bum leg."

Tanya gave him a mock salute and prepared to take his vitals. "Heart rate and blood pressure are a little elevated."

I shot her a dirty look, refraining from saying out loud what was on my mind but muttered under my breath, "No shit," as I flopped back on my bed, my back to her.

I heard her chuckle as she went out the door. A few minutes later, I listened to the mop bucket of the maintenance man coming down the hall. Once he was done, Tanya brought me a fresh pitcher of water and turned out my light, putting my room in total darkness again after shutting the door behind her.

I liked my room to be dark, even in the daytime, but the darkness at night is when my demons and nightmares seem to plague me the most. I tried to stay awake or doze, but no matter how hard I tried, I felt myself losing the battle. Slowly, I slipped into a deep sleep.

Memories I tried to keep repressed began to flash through my mind, like film on a reel. But this was not a movie with a happy-ever-after…it was a horror movie that should not have been made or seen.

The day was hot and dry like every other day in this sandpit of hell. My team and I were part of a service battalion that handled mail, supplies, etc. Our team made this trip several times a week. We were all anxious to return to base camp for a warm shower and beer.

Today (PFC), Mark Wilson drew the long straw and was the driver. (SPC) Jordan Fitzgerald was in the passenger seat. The two unlucky men suffering in the hot sun in the cargo truck bed were (PFC) Joe Anderson and me, (SGT) Wyatt Montgomery.

Joe was leaning against the side of the cargo truck, his rifle lying loosely on his knees. I was on the opposite side, doing the same thing. Returning to base camp, we could relax a little more because if we were going to be attacked, it would be when we were heading out. The cargo truck was full at that time.

Mark drove slowly over the narrow road, or at least what passed for a road, trying to avoid any holes. While he concentrated on his driving, Jordan was scanning the area in front and side, her rifle lying loosely on her lap.

"Mark, slow down. There is something on the side of the road. Looks like a body," Jordan said as they neared some old, abandoned buildings. "That wasn't here when we passed through this morning,"

I knew this was a favorite tactic of the Taliban to get us to stop and then pick us off one by one, so it was my decision to stop or not. Although I knew it could be a trap, in all good conscience, I could not leave a human being on the side of the road, even if they were the enemy.

Joe and I stood up, scanning the surrounding area to see if we could see anything, although we knew we wouldn't. The Taliban was good at digging holes in the sand and hiding, but with abandoned buildings, they were the perfect place for an ambush.

"It looks like a woman because she is wearing a skirt, but there is a blanket or something over her face," Jordan shouted so I could hear her.

"Stop and check it out but be on alert," I told Mark, leaning down close to the driver's window.

When the truck stopped, Jordan opened her door and stepped out, her rifle ready. As she neared the body, her body jerked as several bullets hit her body. Jordan fell, her rifle landing beside her.

\Joe immediately crouched down, trying to use the side of the truck for cover while I did the same on the other side. I wanted to jump out of the truck and check on Jordan, but I knew it would do no good. She was dead.

"Get us out of here, Mark," I yelled.

"But Jordan?"

"There is nothing we can do for her. We will come back for her body," I said, although it pained me to say that.

Suddenly, Joe moaned, and I turned just in time to see him fall backward in the truck's bed, a bullet wound in his chest. I crawled over to him to check for a pulse, but there was none. I cursed under my breath as I moved back on my side. As the truck started to move, I heard a whoosh sound, and the cargo truck started to shake hard. I lost my balance and was thrown into the sand near some bushes.

I hit the radio button, saying, "We are under fire. We are about twenty miles from camp near two old, abandoned buildings. I repeat, we are under fire."

I turned toward the cargo truck, which was now a disintegrated mess. I crawled back among the bushes, rifle ready. My left leg felt like it was on fire. I could feel wetness on my face. Was it blood? Was it tears? Was it a combination of both?

As darkness overtook me, I could hear a helicopter in the distance,

*****

I thrashed around on the bed, my hands covering my ears, my eyes tightly shut as the sounds and pictures flickered through my mind quickly. No matter what I tried, the sounds and images kept torturing me. Just as the smell of blood penetrated my nose, I shot straight up in bed, my cover tangled around my feet, gasping for breath.

I put my head in my hands, tears dripping down my cheeks as I struggle to reorientate myself to the present day. It has been over eight months and you would think the night terrors would lessen but they are as strong as they were when I first started having them. Deep down in my soul, I knew the only way to have peace was to join my team.

Unfortunately, being in the hospital made that impossible. Today, I was moving to the Transitional Floor. When they were confident I could manage living independently, I would be moved to a small studio apartment for at least six months. The government wanted to ensure we were not nut cases that could crack at any second, especially when living in these apartments. But they didn't know the determination of this nut to join my team.

Once we passed their guidelines, proving we were stable enough to be on our own, we could stay there or find another place to live. I knew I was one of those nut cases that would crack the minute I got settled in my apartment. But I had to act fine to get out of there…ASAP. I could do it; I was a great actor in drama class in high school.

I looked over at the small clock on my nightstand. It was almost 6 a.m. Soon, they would be coming around to do vitals before shift change. There was no sense in trying to go back to sleep. I laid back in my bed, damp from the sweat that had eked out of my body during my night terror.

"Yuck," I said as I slowly climbed out of the damp bed. I hobbled over to the chair, figuring I would shower after my vitals were done and I rested. Just that short distance to the chair zapped all my strength. I had been told in the hospital in Germany that I would never walk again.

I hated to be told I would never walk again, so I pushed myself to prove them wrong. I was not supposed to walk without my cane, but that made me feel like my grandpa. I was only 43 years old, not 80 years old.

I heard a knock on the door, and Kelsy poked her head inside. "I heard you were giving Lena a hard time this morning, Wyatt."

"Yeah, what of it? She is an idiot."

"No, she is not. She started a few nights ago and was told to knock but forgot. Give her a break,"

Remembering how cute she was, I mumbled, "I'll give her something, and it won't be a break."

Kelsy shook her head, finished taking my vitals, and headed toward the door. "Don't forget you are moving to the Transitional Floor sometime today. And use your cane when walking," as she returned to grab my cane and bring it to me before leaving. "You fall; you will just be with us longer."

"I wouldn't mind staying here if you would join me some night in bed so we could do the horizontal polka,"

"I am old enough to be your mother,"

"I heard older women are cougars in bed."

Kelsy rolled her eyes, shook her head, and left the room, the sound of Wyatt's laughter following her.

Once she left, I slowly walked over to my dresser to get my clothes, my cane still leaning against the chair. As I opened the drawer to get my tee shirt out, I found my gaze moving to the drawer beside it. I knew what that drawer contained…memories. Do I want to look at them or leave some of those memories alone? Can my heart stand it?

As if my hands had a mind of their own, I watched them reach out and gently pull the drawer out. As the drawer opened, a picture of a beautiful young woman appeared. She had hair as dark as coal with green eyes flecked with gold. She had a slight smile on her lips as she stared at the camera. She had streaks of dirt on her cheek. She was wearing fatigues and squatting in front of her tent.

I kissed the picture and put it back in the drawer. It wouldn't hurt so bad one day, and you will take your rightful place on my dresser.

I gathered the rest of my clothes and went to take a shower. Soon, it would be breakfast time, and then I needed to ensure my stuff was packed for my move to the Transitional Floor.