Broken Soldier (Book One) Read online

  Broken Soldier

  This story is copyright 2015 by Bruce George. All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ***

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  Broken Soldier

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16h

  The End

  Chapter 1

  Mike cautiously moved out into the shallows, pleased that his prosthetic legs held up well against the rapidly moving current. He’d been fishing here for years and knew this part of the river quite well. By very carefully placing his feet on the rocky bottom, he became one with the crystal clear waters.

  With a flick of his wrist, the thin filament line traveled back and forth three feet from his head. The sound of it pleased him and evoked a memory of time spent here in his youth. That had been many years ago and it remained one of his favorite memories.

  He didn’t care if he caught anything or not. That wasn’t entirely true, because he did like to win. Where fishing was concerned, winning meant pulling in as many trout as the law allowed. Still, just being there, standing awkwardly in the shallow rushing water, was reward enough for him that day.

  Fly-fishing at this spot had been one of his most cherished recollections, as he recovered from that horrible explosion during the 1991 Gulf War in Iraq. He was one of three survivors in a squad of eight men, who had helped take Kuwait back from Sadam Hussein’s army.

  ***

  Mike’s company had seen little action in the drive north, into Iraq. On the forth day, they had been tasked with providing perimeter protection for Forward Operation Base (FOB) Viper, which was primarily a helicopter refueling and rearming site for the 101st Airborne Div. The worst of the fighting was over. But, just a few miles south of their position, the northern outskirts of Al Busayyah had been bypassed for the most part and could still be a threat to the FOB. So it had to be double checked.

  The company commander, Capt. Parker, had summoned him. When he walked into the tent, Mike saluted sharply, announcing, “Staff Sergeant Hurst reporting as ordered, sir.”

  The CO held a sheet of paper in his hand, looked Mike in the eye and said, “Staff Sergeant,” he paused and chuckled, before saying, “I’ve got good news and bad news. This piece of paper just arrived telling me that you were promoted to Sergeant First Class eight days ago.” Capt. Parker held out his hand, saying, “Congratulations, Mike. You’ve certainly earned it.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  After a brief pause, The Capt. told him, “And now for the bad news. You know Sergeant Kilgore busted his kneecap. He was just walking over to get some chow and he tripped on a damned tent peg and landed knee first on a rock. He made me promise not to put him in for a purple heart.”

  Mike smiled, but kept his mouth shut. He knew that the bad news was still to come.

  “Well Sergeant First Class Hurst, I need you to take over his squad for the rest of this operation. I know it’s unusual to drop you down a peg, but the alternative would be to put a less experienced Corporal in charge. I want a combat vet with some savvy to take his group into northern Al Busayyah and be sure there’s not any substantial force that could threaten the FOB.

  “Check with Lt. Simak, for the details and the exact location we need checked out. Intelligence says there doesn’t seem to be anything sizable hanging around out there. But, I’d feel better if we took a look for ourselves.”

  “Will do, Sir.”

  So, he took seven men out to see what was what. He knew these men, but not as well as their squad leader, Sergeant Kilgore. Still, they seemed to have their shit together.

  Five hours later, Iraqi snipers had quickly killed two of the men and the remaining six had taken refuge in the nearest building.

  It had been foolish for all of them to bunch up like that, defying all of their training. The men should have known better. But when two members of their squad fell so suddenly to snipers, everyone jumped to the safest looking place they could find. He screamed for them to quickly clear the other rooms. That’s when a woman came running out of a back room, screaming as she set off the explosive device she wore.

  He vaguely remembered a blinding light. The next thing he recalled he was lying in a hospital bed, with a tent over his legs and feeling heavily medicated. Mike was in and out of consciousness for several days, before he was able to realize that he had lost both legs, just above the knees. The bandage over his left eye indicated that was gone as well.

  The doctors kept telling him he was lucky to have survived, but that didn’t make the reality of it any easier to deal with. The most frustrating aspect of being wounded was that no one could tell him what had happened to the others in the squad. He knew he was in a hospital in Germany, although he had no memory of being transported there. It was so frustrating that none of the doctors or medics had the answer to that question, which he repeatedly asked.

  After four days of drifting in and out of sleep, his sedatives were reduced and he began to face reality. A corporal came by, holding a clipboard and introduced himself. “I’m Corporal Tagert and you must be Staff Sergeant Michael Hurst.”

  “Yeah, I’m Hurst. Actually, I was promoted to Sergeant First Class.”

  “Oh. Sorry for the mistake. I’m with recovery services and I am here to help you adjust to your new situation. Is there anything I can do for you…anything I can get you?”

  “Yeah there is. What happened to my men.”

  Tagert flipped a few pages on his clipboard and told him, “That’s one of the most common questions I get from the wounded. We try to gather this info as quickly as possible for all of the men involved. We do that for the wounded and for the troops still in the field who want to know your status, as well.

  “I see here that there were eight men in your squad and all but three of you survived. The report they sent is rather lean on details. It does say a suicide bomber charged into a room and lit you up. You, Corporal Alphonso Benson and Private First Class Denerious Jackson were the only survivors.

  “I’m sorry about the other men, Sergeant. It’s always difficult when you lose men in combat.”

  He tried to recall a face for those two men, but Benson was the only one he could picture. “Benson and Jackson, the only others to make it? Damn, I barely knew them.”

  Then he asked, “What about my wife? Has she been notified about my condition yet?”

  Tagert looked down at his clipboard, and then told him, “The Army has notified her that you were wounded and now in Germany. She was not told about the extent of your wounds.”

  Tagert was about to ask him whether or not he wanted her to be informed as to the nature of his wounds, when Mike explained, “I was with that squad, but it wasn’t really mine. I was a replacement. Their Sergeant was injured and I got assigned to the patrol.”

  Mike looked away and mumbled, “I didn’t really know any of them, but they were sure as hell my men to my way of thinking. I should have immediately had the men spread out to the other rooms. I might have saved a few lives.”

  Tagert smiled and told him, “You did save lives, Sergeant. You saved yours and Benson’s and Jackson’s. Corporal Benson told me that you tripped the woman who came running into the room. When she fell, most of the explosives were facing down at the floor. So, the force of it went out from beneath her.

  “You lost both legs and an eye, because you were closest to the blast. Benson lost his left foot and Jackson lost both of his. If you hadn’t reacted as quickly as you did, everyone in that room would have been killed. According to this report, what did the most damage was an RPG that hit the room after the suicide bomber got to you guys. If you weren’t already down, you would have bought the farm”

  Mike hated hearing some rear echelon pencil pusher try to sound like a combat veteran.

  Still, on that day and in that theater, the squad was his and he was supposed to see that they came back alive. The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on him and his expression must have revealed that.

  Tagert told him, “I see this sort of emotion all the time. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s called survivors guilt. That feeling that you didn’t do enough and that you don’t deserve to be alive. But you’re wrong to think that way. Under the circumstances, you did what you could and did it in a microsecond. You’re a hero, Sergeant, although you don’t feel like one at the mo
ment. You saved your life and the lives of two good men.”

  Mike asked, “Where are they now? Is Jackson near by?”

  “Jackson’s here. Benson flew out two days ago. You, Jackson and several others will be going back home in a few weeks. The docs just want to be sure you’re stable and strong enough, before they fly you out of here.”

  ***

  His fishing line jerked slightly, bringing him out of his daydream. A trout nibbled at the fly and spit it out, before hitting it hard. Mike instinctively pulled on the rod, sinking the hook firmly in the fishes jaw. He had to allow the fish to run with the line. If he didn’t, the powerful trout would snap the thin line, or more likely, yank his mouth free of the hook.

  But Mike was an experienced trout fisherman and he loved to play a fish. He enjoyed the game of give and take, before he reeled it in. Once he had it in his net, he looked at it and announced, “Welcome home big boy.” Then he dumped it in his creel and attached a new fly to the end of his line.

  After two more fish had joined their brothers in his basket, he carefully withdrew from the water and sat on a felled tree trunk to remove the waders he wore. His prosthetic legs fit nicely into them, but it was hell getting them out. With several fishing trips under his belt, he had given up on trying to pull them out of the tight fitting rubber waders, while they were still attached to his thighs. He detached each one, and then took his time removing the prosthetic legs from the boot portion of the wader.

  As he reattached his artificial legs, the continuing muscular atrophy of his right leg made getting a good fit with the prosthetic difficult. He mumbled, “Looks like it’s time to get another leg fitted. Damn I hate going to the VA hospital for that. I’ll be waiting in line for hours, just to get it sized, and then I’ll have to go back for a final fit. Sometimes I wish the damn suicide bitch had killed me. It would have made things easier for everyone.”

  He chastised himself for such thoughts. His son would certainly disagree and so would his late wife.

  Sherry, Mike’s wife, had passed away nineteen years after Desert Storm. She had been his rock for most of his adult life. Being the wife of a career Army enlisted man was a challenge for any woman. When he was on deployment, the long periods were hard on both of them. To stay busy, she had gone back to college and earned a degree in history, and then began teaching at a local high school.

  For a while, she made more money than he did. That wasn’t entirely true, because of the benefits of being able to live on base and having the use of the Post Exchange and medical services. It all added up to a nice package, if only the soldier didn’t have to go on deployment.

  They wanted children; but being prudent about the expense of raising a child, they waited until he made corporal to even try. By the time Sherry became pregnant, he had just made sergeant. At the time of Wayne’s birth, she was thirty years old and Mike was thirty two. Having a first child, at an age older than most Army couples, made no difference to either of them. Their little boy was the apple of daddy’s eye and Sherry adored the boy and doted over him as much as she could.

  Some wives made it very clear they didn’t want their sons or daughters to join the army. But Sherry was Army all the way, God bless her. She bought a tiny set of camos and had Wayne’s picture taken in them and sent him the picture. He proudly carried it with him all through Ranger School. That ordeal had been a real bitch, at his age, but he made it and was extremely proud to wear the shoulder patch.

  ***

  The light was getting dim, as he carefully made his way back to the old beat up cabin, in north Georgia. It had been in the family for three generations and had been the scene of many wonderful fishing and hunting trips.

  A flashlight appeared close to the front door, surprising him. An odd mechanical bass voice asked, “Sergeant First Class Michael Hurst?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Who are you, and get that damned light out of my face.”

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  Chapter 2

  It was dark and something was over his eyes. When he tried to move, he felt the straps on his arms and legs that had him pinned to a slab. He detected the cold of a thinly padded metal table, where his hands and feet touched it.

  WHAT THE HELL! For years he used to get pains in his non-existent legs, but never anything like this. It felt so real and he could feel the pull of the straps on his ankles. Because he was groggy, he knew he had been sedated with some sort of pharmaceutical; so maybe that explained the false sense of having legs. Mike just wanted to know what was going on and who had done this to him.

  A low mechanical monotone voice spoke to him. “Relax Sergeant. You’re doing fine. The med unit needs to sedate you again. When you awaken, you will be shown a video that should put your mind at ease.”

  “Where the hell…” His thoughts quickly disappeared, as he faded out of consciousness.

  ***

  Music…he heard music. To be accurate, it sounded like some God awful elevator music.

  Mike opened his eyes and the pure white light felt like needles piercing his pupils. The lights dimmed automatically and changed to a soft amber hue, as though someone was watching his reaction and accorded him the courtesy of reducing the bright glare.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. The shock of it struck him hard. He was seeing out of both eyes. Who ever had captured him had seen to the repair of his sight. As far as he knew, that was impossible.

  He looked around and saw that he was in a very small room with white walls and a very high ceiling. On the wall behind him were a few medical devices that monitored his progress, or so he assumed. They didn’t look like any type of medical equipment he had ever seen.

  When he tried to move, he realized that he was still strapped down to a padded metal table. He must still be drugged, he thought, because he felt sluggish and heavy, as though gravity had increased.

  The mechanical voice spoke to him again. “I will release the restraints now, Sergeant Hurst. For the next few days, the gravity will be kept at twice Earth normal. That will speed up your recovery, by stimulating the new elements of your body.

  “You have nothing to fear from me. Just allow your body to heal and grow.”

  The straps that held him down automatically released, providing him freedom of movement. He tried to sit up, but found it difficult, as the press of gravity fought his effort.

  “Please, Sergeant Hurst, lay back and watch the wall to your left. I’m going to show you a video that will begin to explain what has happened to you and why it happened.”

  The room darkened and the music changed to an orchestral piece he didn’t recognize. Almost the entire left wall became a video screen. On it, he saw himself fishing, and then walking back to the cabin.

  A woman’s mechanical voice began to explain. “You have been watched for a few days, Sergeant Hurst and your military service record has been thoroughly researched. You have demonstrated great courage, in the face of life threatening danger and an ability to lead men in brutal combat. Also, and this is very important, you have shown that you can take life when it is necessary, but not to excess. That is a rare talent, in a universe where beings shoot first and ask questions later.

  The voice added. “I believe that’s a term you were taught in boot camp, was it not?”

  Mike tried again to sit up again and made it this time, parking his naked rump on the cold thin pad of the metal slab. He called out angrily, “Who the hell are you?”

  The video froze, with a picture of him lying on the ground, in front of the cabin. A different mechanical voice came on and told him, “I understand that you have questions, Sergeant. Also, I know that it isn’t in your nature to be patient about getting answers. That’s another reason why I selected you first. If you will remain calm, I’ll continue the video, which will answer many of the questions you have, as you discover what has brought you to this crossroad in your life.”