Not. Clue. One.

Our airfield or the crops to feed the natives. Which is more important? I knew you would agree with me.

What is important are the kickbacks deserved for whoever in the Bush™ Administration awarded the contracts for building the airfield and importing expired foods to sell at exorbitant prices to the starving natives, Gotta wonder if this system was copied from the Bureau of Indian Affairs™?

My platoon had arrived late the day before. Most of my men were still busy setting up our temporary quarters. In this kind of warfare, never do the predictable. Per OSO we would be moving our quarters, offices, assembly areas such as the mess tent, around at random. To throw off any mapping by infiltrators.

I was taking what was for me a down time. To inspect the perimeter for which my platoon was assigned responsibility and look over the ANA units we'd been stuck with. I brought along a couple of my experienced Sergeants, Lopez and Polandsyn. Their eyes and ears would provide invaluable observations on our shit-tuation. And that ain't no misprint!

When I first arrived in Afghanistan. (Better known as the 'Forward Outpost of Hell™'.) My first commander, Lt. Colonel Fielding gave me some blunt advice.

"Son, if you want to live long enough to go home too die of old age? Listen to your NCO's. Listen carefully, learn from them and if you intend to disregard their advice?

Issue them clear orders, telling them exactly why you disagree with their opinions. That they may understand your intentions.

So that if you are putting your men into unnecessary risk? Provide your NonComs the opportunity to frag you and save the Afghan fuckers the cost of the bullet to put your ignorant ass down!"

Damn, I always enjoyed hearing the Old Man talk. He just had this soft SW Missouri country bumpkin drawl that masked as sharp a cosmopolitan wit as I'd ever had the good fortune to listen to.

My Sergeants and I were walking the outermost trench lines. The Afghani soldiers were lounging around, not looking straight at us, chattering as we passed. Most of them were kids! I wonder how many minutes of weapons practice any of them have had?

Hell. at least the Hessians had been drilled to parade right smartly!

I heard Polandsyn mutter to Lopez "Where the fuck are their officers?"

Suddenly,, Lopez shoved me into the nearest slit trench just as a barrage of rockets and mortars came screaming in. I barely even heard the infamous ripping noise before being tackled.

After spitting out the dirt in my mouth, I took a quick peek up to see the first wave of attackers slipping through the outer wire and minefields. Obviously their paths had been marked out ahead for them, by someone from our side.

Almost certainly one or more of the ANA officers. Supplementing their sporadic paychecks and whatever they could embezzle.

Does explain why none of them were to found facing the pointy-edge of this assault.

This attack by native tribesmen must have been short of rockets and mortar shells, cause there was a noticeable intermission between the shelling and the incoming rifle fire. They probably mistimed the barrage with their ground assault.

That gave the three of us a chance to scramble over to where those damn fool ANA boy-soldiers were bunching up. Perfect fucking target for mortars!

TSgt. Polandsyn, who spoke the gibberish, pointed at two older Afghanis in fatigues who were haranguing the rest.

"Those fuckers are telling the others to retreat!"

Just then the two noticed us and started to bring their weapons up, Already jumpier than a cat on fire, I gunned them down without hesitation. I apologize if we were mistaken about their true intentions.

My Sergeants were covering the rest of the ANA troops, in case any of the boy-soldiers were thinking about backing up the infiltrators play.

The three of us, yelling threats and hitting when necessary, physically shoved the rest of the perimeter guard back into their entrenchments and got 'em to start returning fire. One good piece of luck that our assigned 'allies' were from a distant tribe, not local to here.

Just in time to catch the leading wave of attackers still upright, out in the open, on the other side of the last wire and close-up, chopping them down. But the mass attack was right behind them, following the cleared paths. SSgt. Lopez took over a fifty caliber HM, laying down a withering spray of death.

TSgt. Polandsyn was at my other flank. Cajoling the Afghans with him into returning fire with their LMGs and grenade-launchers. Also making sure none of them took a shot at my back.

The construction crews behind us laying out the tarmac, were mostly Bengali and Thai. Suddenly a bunch of them showed up led by their Crew Chief, Japanese I think. Grabbing whatever weapons they could find. They knew too damn well what would happen to them if the attack broke through.

Their Jap foreman crab-walked over to me and screamed in my ear "I sent some men and trucks back to get ammo and reinforcements!"

That was my greatest fear, that we would run out of ammunition before breaking the attack. In that case we'd have been reamed fore and aft! No shit! I was scared enough to crap my pants! If my Pucker Factor hadn't been too strong.

Within minutes, the first truck came racing up with an assortment of my men and ANA. And more construction workers, who started distributing ammo cases along the line. Maybe two or three of those brave civvies were wounded or killed but thanks to their efforts resupplying the line, we were able to break the main attack.

SSgt. Lopez was almost overrun when the heavy machine gun ammo bin ran dry and one of the more determined braves got close enough to launch an RPG into his pit.

Several of his squad had just arrived, charging towards his position. Cutting down the attackers trying to cut through the last of the razorwire. Beating back that last attempted breakthrough. However, Staff Sergeant Lopez was dead before a medic could get to him.

Armed Humvees™ and APCs arrived to add their firepower. Those tribesmen still able, were falling back and running for their hideouts. A pair of attack copters finally showed up to chase the surviving ragamuffins into the deceptively barren hills.

That was when I noticed that there was a medic kneeling over me doing a quick patch of the wounds to my legs. "Was I hit? When the fuck was I hit?"

I could hear single-shot gunfire in the background as the Medic worked on me. Polandsyn was looking over his shoulder with a grim face. He noticed me twitch at the crack of gunfire.

With a sour sneer my surviving Sargent reported "The Afghani Army officers finally showed up. They are shooting the enemy wounded and probably the dead to add to their notches. I'm sure that this glorious victory will earn them many medals for this act of courage.".

I could see this atrocity conflicted with his conscience. But damn if I cared what these animals did to one another. Nobody will ever accuse me of putting my minuscule conscience ahead of my bodily self-interests!

Several of my men then grabbed me and rushed me into an APC. I must have passed out from blood loss. I think I vaguely remember being on a stretcher aboard a Medivac copter. The next clear memory I have, is waking up vomiting from the anesthesia used after the first surgery on my legs at Kabul.

I've talked about my blackout with other wounded veterans and the VA therapists. They said some guys are like me, we just block out the memory of how and when we were wounded. For whatever reason.

Damned if I understand it? You'd think I'd want to remember? As an encouragement to avoid committing, a second time, the same stupidity that had gotten me wounded in the first place!

This attack caused no real damage to the airfield but killed maybe a dozen or so Afghan National Army (counting the two infiltrators I had shot), a couple of the civilian construction workers (they didn't have body armour) and Sergeant Lopez.

One of the few regrets I still carry is losing Lopez. He was a damn fine professional soldier and a good man to have by your side in any Duty Station. Not a bad card player either. I never did win more then a few cents off of him at poker. If I remember correctly, he left behind a wife and two or three children in Pacoima, California.

There had been a dozen more casualties, of whom the seriously wounded including myself, were evacuated.

First to Kabul for immediate treatment, then I was sent on to Landstuhl, Germany for further surgery.

Turned out my legs had embedded glass shards from a shattered bottle as well as metal fragments of RPG shrapnel. Some fucktard had left a goddamned Coca Cola™ bottle lying around! Double-damned lucky all that shit missed my groin.

While I was trying to recover enough to endure a scheduled third (!) operation, I occurred one of those nasty drug-resistant infections.

That got me sent back Stateside to Walter Reed for advanced care. I got lucky, the infection was cleared up with aggressive new treatments. And the final operation, replacing some damaged blood-vessels, restored my legs to about eighty/ninety percent. Of course, I had to start physical therapy all over again.

This shit all continued to drag on for weeks and months. I was on light office duties at the Pentagon when not hospitalized or in the intensive therapy program. I didn't understand yet but Sheffield was deliberately pulling strings behind the scenes to keep me on the Active Roster.

***********

{late 2003}

Until the General's friends in Congress twisted enough arms at DOPeMA to get me promoted to Major. In addition to the Afghanistan Campaign Medal I had been awarded.

Shortly afterwards, the Medical Board recommended I retire. I bet they were envious of the possibility that I might have become a twenty-something year old brevet general. Wouldn't that'd set the fox among the chickens!?!

One of Sheffield's flunkies had visited me after the last time I was released from Walter Reed. She told me that the General wanted me to come back to my home state. That he'd provide a place for me to live and a job if I wanted one

She then gave me a terrific blowjob as her personal thank you for my heroic services defending my country.

While we were cuddled up on the couch, she asked if there was anything else they could do for me. The only thing I came up with was resolving my inner turmoil over the death of my Staff Sergeant Lopez. Yeah, he got a posthumous Air Force Commendation Medal and his family received some death benefits but I figured he deserved more recognition than that, from a "grateful nation".

Just saying! It pisses me off, the bigots who are too ignorant of even basic history, to admit that the Spaniards and Portuguese have had centuries of experience fighting the Arabs and Turks. Since before the beginning of the First Global Conflict in the 15^th Century.

Thus my request to reopen that brave man's file. Seeking to gain him and his family the recognition SSgt. Lopez had earned. For reacting so quickly knocking me into the trench and manning that 50 caliber heavy machine-gun that blunted the assault wave from breaking through our thin line.

I convinced Sheffield to invest in some political favors by approaching the California Senators™ and the Representative™ for the District that included Pacoima.

All together, they made political gold out of spinning straw. Honoring SSgt. Lopez for his well-deserved, prehumous self-sacrifice, posthumous hard-earned, Medal of Honor. To the benefit of his family. And the Pol's re-election campaigns.

***********

***********

***********

Marry in Haste...

***********

When I came hobbling home towards the spring of 2004, Lieutenant General Sheffield (USAF, Ret.) introduced me to his family, including his youngest daughter Valerie. Who, half a year later, would become my wife.

My future father-in-law was gearing up for a run at becoming Governor. He thought, that as a Genuine War Hero™, I could be useful to his campaign. Especially when our nuptials would be among our State's top news headlines for weeks just before the elections. Those coincidences just keep on piling on, do they not?

***********

{mid 2004}

I was coming out of the downstairs toilet for my flat after popping a couple of painkillers. When Valerie and her sister Meredith suddenly came slamming through the front door into the apartment's living room. As usual, they were loaded down with shopping bags.

Val dropped her bags right were they were guaranteed to trip up her sister as the skinny blonde threw herself at me. Greeting me with a loud squeal.

"Luke! Honey-buns! You made it home on time."

Stumbling back, catching herself on the sideboard, the stocky blonde cursed at her thoughtless sister and grumbled a greeting to me.

"Trying to break my neck,? Yeah stupid beanpole! Hey Luke, thought yoeah plane had broken the fuck down? Whaddahcha do? Catch another flight?"

As usual, ignoring whatever damage she leaves about her, Val just flipped a bird in response to her sibling. I replied over Val's head as she was busy groping me.

"Hey, Meredith. Yeah, I got lucky, another airline (oof!) had a passenger cancel (Val argh!!) at the (that tickles!) the last minute. So I actually (Valerie, wait!)wound up (jeez Val!) getting in an hour earlier than I was suppose to on my original flight."

I caught both of Valerie's hands and forced them behind her, she began rubbing her nosecone tits into my chest while one of her legs tried to wrap around my leg.

"Valerie, God™ damn it! Stop it! You're hurting my leg, I can't hold both of us up."

Her mood changed instantly to contrite apology.

"Oh God™, Luke. I'm so sorry I forgot. I didn't hurt you did I, Baby?"

Meredith snorted from the sofa where she had moved all the bags they had brought in.

Not wanting to trigger off one of Val's dramatic wailings I quickly interjected.

"It was a damn long trip home and I was stuck in economy class. I took a couple of extra-strength Tylenol™ just before you came in.

I need to soak my aching body in the Jacuzzi™. For once, I'm actually looking forward to my therapy appointment tomorrow morning."

With a few tears in her eyes Valerie burbled.

"Oh baby, yes! I'll give your leg a massage in the 'cuzzi and a full body massage when we get out."

Shaking her head and grumbling under her breath, Meredith checked she had her purse and a couple of bags of her own purchases as she complained her good-byes.

"Shit Val! I just spent six fuckin' hours on my feet, in these fuckin' heels. Herding yeah through every damn store and boutique in the Galleria™ and yeah didn't offer me no damn massage! I'll see yeah both at Daddy's barbecue this Saturday."

Valerie skipped over to her sister to kiss her goodbye and a final exchange of insults

"Thanks Bitchisis, for helping me shop for my trousseau. Appreciate your bad advice and lousy taste."

"See yeah, Luke. As for yeah? Yeah cunt from Hell™. Next marriage, ask Mom to take yeah shopping. That'd be the perfect revenge for me!"

Shit...These two are like cats in heat always yowling and clawing at each other. Never am sure if they are serious or not? I suspect they enjoy winding everybody else up with their foul mouths and noisy competitiveness.

***********

When I was considering apartment living, I had insisted on one with some decent amenities. The Master Bedroom ensuite includes a separate shower with multiple-heads and a large,Jacuzzi™ bath with installed safety-bars.

Since the lease for this well-furnished, professionally decorated luxury apartment is being discreetly paid as a tax-deductible consulting fee out of surreptitiously acquired campaign funds, I'n a happy camper!

I groaned as I sank my akey-brakey body into the hot water. With a medicinal herb oil mixed in, the strong jets were boiling up a bajillion tiny, sharp-scented bubbles.

Damn! This feels good. Laying back, I had my head and neck propped up with a shaped, waterproof pillow.

Suddenly pan-pipe music came on the over the bathroom speakers. Val must have turned on the music system. A few minutes later, she appeared, almost dressed in a slinky, black silk gown. Carrying a tray with a variety of sliced fruits and what turned out to be a large, plastic mug of chilled Sparkling Perry™.

Setting the tray on the heavy-duty bath-seat, I had conveniently set right next to the Jacuzzi™. She slipped off her negligent dressing gown and hung it on the back of the door. For a few moments pausing in provocative poses for my appreciative enjoyment.

She took a few more minutes to tend her toiletries on the other side of the tiled wall separating the toilet and bidet from the rest of this bathroom. I just laid back in the frothing liquid wonderfulness and relaxed, breathing in deep the strong herbal scent.

Must have closed my eyes as suddenly Val slithered into the Jacuzzi™ to snuggle up to my unwounded leg. She reached over me, her firm tits stabbing my chest, a flick from her pony-tail brushing across my lips.

Her hand brought back the cup, teasing me before taking the first sip for herself. I grinned at her audacity. Carefully she brought the cup to my lips and cautiously tilted it up and then back so I don't choke from the very tart, mildly sweet, hardciderd pear drink . The fizzing bubbles tickled my nose while the liquor scalded down my throat. As I scrunched my face, Val giggled at my clowning.

Placing the cup back, my fiance began to feed the both of us small bites of ripe fruits. Interspersed now and again with more sips of Perry.

Deciding we'd had enough fortification to energize our bodies and libidos, she got down to the serious business of gently massaging my scarred leg. That felt good.

My cock started to respond to her body rubbing against me. Her hand moved up and took hold of my erection and began to run her hand up and down. That felt damn good!

Before I could blow my load she purred into my ear. "Let's get out. Hit the showers. Hit the bed. And hit my cunt, cause it's feeling rather neglected right now!

I nodded, feeling too relaxed to reply with unnecessary words.

Val punched the jet controls to off and let the water to drain. I grabbed a dry washcloth to carefully wipe the oil off my hands. Before rolling onto my side to prop myself up that I could take the tray off the seat and place it on the floor behind.

If I should cramp or loose my footing getting out, I wanted the seat available as an exigent support with it's non-skid surface. Rather risk loosing some skin than break any bones!

Very carefully, cause of the oily residue still on the bottom of my feet, I clambered over the side of the tub using the horizontal bar, then a vertical railing to brace myself as I stood. Took a moment to wipe the bottom of my feet across the thick, terry topped bathmat. One hand still holding onto the vertical bar, I reached down and helped Valerie to her feet and out of the bath.

Together we went over to the shower stall. Love this shower! If you ain't been without, you don't know what a pleasure it is too experience such luxurious technology. Like being caressed to by a warm monsoon.

We scrubbed each other clean of daily grime and the herbal oils. Yes, we had a little pleasure foundling one another's naughty bits. But that was as far as that went. Sex in the shower sounds like fun until you slip and fall. I am fucking sick and tired of doctors and hospitals!

The towels are luxuriously thick and fluffy and delightfully warm to the touch. Once we were finished here, we headed for the bedroom. I saw that Val had earlier removed the fancy bed cover and blanket. Leaving a super-sized bath towel draped across the sheets. A bottle of oil was sitting in a porcelain bowl of water on a coffee mug warmer.